iM  if  1 1  ?a«  I  hitif  ill  I H  it  8ff  ^ 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE.  LIBRARY, 


3  1210  01782  6023 


I 

Vu.y.&&, 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


BEQUEST  OF 

7Kn*.  *?4*6el  *%.  SUU 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 
WALTER  RAYMOND 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON 

From  a   water-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


ENGLISH 
COUNTRY  LIFE 

BY 

WALTER    RAYMOND 


author  of 
'the  book  of  simple  delights" 
'crafts    and    character"    etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  IN  COLOUR  FROM 
WATER-COLOUR    DRAWINGS    BY 

WILFRID     BALL,    R.E. 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

EDINBURGH:  T.  N.  FOULIS 
19  I  I 


DA  523 
^3? 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I.  On  the  Way  to  Sutton 
II.  Bacon  and  Eggs 

III.  To  walk  out  round  like    . 

IV.  Old  Abe 

V.  A  Few  Bundles  o'  Reed 
VI.  Threshing— Old  and  New 
VII.  Our  Old  Sexton 
VIII.  How  the  Sun  danced  on  Easter 
IX.  The  Easter  Vestry  . 
X.  First  Aid 
XI.  Dairyman 
XII.  The  "Hedge  Caffender"   . 

XIII.  Finding  a  Bird's  Nest 

XIV.  Uncle  Dick's  Rook-Shooting 
XV.  Mrs.  Dark's  Dairy    . 

XVI.  The  Idle,  Mouching  Fellow 
XVII.  The  Old  Squire  and  the  New 
XVII I.  Sutton  Club- Walking 


Morn 


l'AGE 
I 

24 
32 

43 
5i 
56 
63 
73 
81 

92 
109 

118 

135 
146 
163 
172 
187 
206 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

XIX.  The  Sobriety  of  Micah  Dodge 
XX.  A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Whey 
XXI.  The  Hoopmaker 
XXII.  The  Wayside  Hovel 

XXIII.  The  Refractory  Tenant  . 

XXIV.  Potted  Rabbit 

XXV.  A  Couple  o'  Young  Cautions 
XXVI.  Clothes-Pegs 
XXVII.  The  Meadow-Saffron  Pickers 
XXVIII.  Jane's  Summer  Excursion 
XXIX.  The  Smithy  and  the  Field 
XXX.  That  Rise  in  the  Rent 
XXXI.  The  Harvest  Supper 
XXXII.  Michaelmas  . 

XXXIII.  Carter  Peters 

XXXIV.  My  Property  ! 
XXXV.  Shepherd's  Hut 

XXXVI.  Christmas      . 


219 
248 
257 
267 
277 
291 
298 
309 
323 
335 
349 
365 
378 
392 
410 
418 
427 
436 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

from   IVater-Colour  Drawings 
BY  WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 

On  the  Way  to  Sutton 

Nearing  Sutton 

On  Sutton  Manor — Home  Farm  . 

Old  Abe— Flailing   . 

Old  Sexton  Huckleby 

When  Evening  is  Still 

Japheth  at  Work     . 

Sutton  ..... 

Widow  Teape  at  her  Garden  Hatch 

The  Acorn      .... 

Haymaking      .... 

View  of  Sutton  Village    . 

Gipsy  Encampment    . 

Harvesting      .... 

Ploughing       .... 

Winter  Scene 


.     Frontispiece 

Page 

8 

'             )) 

40 

•             >> 

56 

•             n 

88 

11 

120 

'            11 

136 

ii 

168 

n 

200 

•             ii 

232 

'            ii 

262 

'            )> 

296 

•             i) 

328 

ii 

360 

ii 

408 

ii 

440 

Some  of  the  following  sketches  and 
stories  have  appeared  in  "  Country 
Life"  "  The  Westminster  Gazette" 
"  The  Daily  Mail,"  and  "  The 
London  Magazine."  The  author 
has  to  thank  the  editors  of  these 
periodicals  for  permission  to  in- 
clude these  in  this  volume. 


ENGLISH    COUNTRY 
LIFE 

CHAPTER    I 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON 

"  Sutton  is  the  most  charmino-  village  in  the 
country,"  she  told  me.  "  A  real  English  vil- 
lage, a  sweet  village,  an  ideal  village — ancient, 
but  not  behind  the  times — small,  I  admit,  but 
not,  well,  not  petty.  A  really  simple,  con- 
tented place  !  At  least  it  was  in  my  day. 
And  the  people  !  Well,  the  people  really  were 

Now,  if  you  want  to  write  a  book " 

The  lady  was  born  there  and  she  ought  to 
know.  I  had  but  to  mention  her  name,  she 
said,  and  I  should  be  welcome  everywhere. 
I  might  take  beautiful  rooms  for  certain  with 
Mrs.    Josiah    Heppell.     Everything  was    so 


2  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

simple  that  I  was  compelled  to  start  at 
once. 

I  shall  not  disclose  the  whereabouts,  nor 
need  the  reader  hope  to  identify  the  particular 
Sutton  which  is  the  inspiration  and  birthplace 
of  these  sketches.  Within  the  limits  of  a 
county  he  may  chance  upon  a  dozen  pleasant 
English  villages  of  the  name.  The  grazet- 
teer  is  full  of  them.  He  may  take  his  choice. 
He  can  never  hope  to  select  it  from  so 
many. 

I  traced  out  the  way  and  found  it  no  more 
than  a  day's  march.  I  started  early  in  the 
morning,  at  that  time  of  the  year  when  winter 
is  at  odds  with  spring  and  the  morning  does 
not  begin  too  soon.  My  journey  took  me  first 
by  a  short  cut  across  fields,  over  the  stile  and 
by  the  footpath  through  the  level  meadows 
to  the  stepping-stones  across  the  brook,  up 
the  stony  track  to  the  hilltop  along  the  gorse, 
then,  bearing  to  the  right,  by  a  bee-line  across 
the  common  to  the  holly  bush  that  stands 
beside  a  five-barred  gate,  and  into  a  winding 
lane — in  truth  it  took  me  by  everything  that 
is  sweet  in  English  landscape.     If  at  times  I 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  3 

lost  my  way — what  more  natural  ?  The  way 
is  hard  to  hit.  Moreover,  no  human  soul,  old 
or  young,  big  or  little,  is  capable  of  giving 
the  wayfarer  accurate  information  as  to  the 
way  to  Sutton. 

A  chorus  of  children's  voices  arose  from  the 
lane  between  the  holly  bush  and  a  few  cot- 
tages sheltered  by  a  larch  plantation. 

"  Lauk  !  Here's  a  half  a  han'ful,  all  open 
so  wide,  a'most  so  big  as  dinner  plates." 

"Where?" 

"Why,  here." 

"  Get  on.  Why,  'tis  no  more  'an  half  a 
dozen,  if  so  many." 

"  Never  you  mind " 

They  were  children  on  their  way  to  the 
village  school.  The  bio-aer  ones  carried  their 
satchels  bulging  with  liberal  noonday  meals. 
There  were  five  in  a  group  and  they  appeared 
to  be  all  of  one  family — at  least  they  were 
all  of  one  type,  with  light  hair,  varying  from 
golden  to  flaxen,  and  with  broad  fresh  faces, 
cheeks  like  apples,  and  lips  the  colour  of  the 
few  remaining  holly  berries  which  the  missel- 
thrushes  and  fieldfares  had  overlooked.   They 


4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

had  been  climbing  on  the  bank  to  gather 
primroses,  but  at  the  sight  of  a  "foreigner" 
came  down  into  the  lane  and  stood,  open-eyed, 
amongst  the  glistening  celandines,  to  stare 
at  me. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Sutton  ? " 

None  of  them  answered.  They  just  stood 
in  a  row  and  gazed  in  wonder.  Gradually  a 
smile  dimpled  on  one  freckled  face.  Then  a 
little  maiden  tittered  ;  then  all  grinned  in 
unison  ;  then  laughed  in  chorus. 

"  The  way  to  Sutton  ?  " 

"  Do  ee  mean  Farmer  Sutton — he  what  do 
live  at  Woodrows  Farm  up  half  a  mile " 

"  No,  no.  A  place — a  village  called  Sut- 
ton." 

The  five  little  faces  became  thoughtful,  but 
without  result. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  ?  " 

"  No.  Never  didn't  hear  tell  o'  no  such 
place." 

The  gravity  of  the  situation  clearly  de- 
manded relief. 

"Well,  then,  can  anyone  of  you  tell  me 
the  way  to  Timbuctoo  ? " 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  5 

As  a  joke  the  question  fell  fiat  and  was  an 
evident  failure. 

I  glanced  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the 
little  rank,  which  had  dressed  into  more  even 
line  and  stood  at  attention  very  like  a  class 
in  school.  The  last  child  but  one  was  taller 
than  the  rest — a  slim  maiden,  very  neat  in  a 
blue  pinafore  over  a  bottle-green  frock  not 
much  the  worse  for  wear,  but  outgrown  and 
so  short  in  the  skirt* that  a  pair  of  pheno- 
menally thin,  black-stockinged  spindle  legs 
were  left  uncovered  almost  to  the  knees.  Her 
face  was  very  long  and  narrow,  the  features 
sharp  and  irregular.  Beneath  a  red  woollen 
cap  her  hair,  which  was  something  the  colour 
of  tow,  hung  in  rats'  tails  over  her  shoulders. 
Her  pale  brows  and  eyelashes  would  have 
been  scarcely  distinguishable  had  they  not 
glistened  in  the  morning  sunlight.  But  her 
countenance,  although  so  plain,  was  alert, 
eager,  intelligent,  even  spiritual.  Suddenly 
she  thrust  out  her  hand,  her  arm  bare  half- 
way to  the  elbow  by  reason  of  the  shortness 
of  the  sleeve.  Her  wrist  looked  bony.  Her 
fingers  were  extended,  yet  her  long  thumb 


6  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

retained  firm  hold  of  some  half  a  score  of 
violets,  of  which  the  white  petals  were  only- 
just  beginning  to  unfold.  She  had  gathered 
no  primroses.  Her  search  was  for  the  frag- 
rant and  the  rare. 

"Well?" 

"A  town  on  the  banks  of  the  Joliba  in  the 
south  of  the  great  Sahara." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  said  I,  for  it  was  gratifying 
to  learn  it.  "To  know  the  way  to  Sutton 
may  some  day  be  of  more  use.  Good-bye. 
Get  along.  God  bless  you.  Gather  the  vio- 
lets while  ye  may." 

It  is  a  wonder  the  little  maid  did  not 
correct  the  misquotation. 

So  they  went  off  down  the  lane,  running, 
laughing,  climbing,  a  new  generation  starting 
upon  a  life  different  in  all  its  social  aspects 
from  any  that  its  rural  forefathers  have  lived, 
and  chanmno-  still.  I  watched  them  out  of 
sight  before  tramping  forward  between  the 
ruts. 

A  mile  or  more  with  a  neglected  old  hedge- 
row on  either  hand. 

Fringes  of  yellow  catkins  were  quivering 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  7 

from  the  boughs  of  the  hazel,  and  mouse- 
coloured  buds  of  willows  were  beginning  to 
show  their  gold.  A  yellow-hammer  sang  its 
"  Little  bit  o'  bread  an'  no  cheese  "  from  the 
twig  of  a  hawthorn  bush,  and  a  pair  of  newly 
mated  blackbirds  came  flirting  out  of  the 
brier-tangled  ditch  and  back  again.  The 
spring  was  just  arriving  with  the  smile  of  an 
expectant  guest.  Yet  it  seemed  that  there 
was  none  but  myself  to  welcome  her.  For 
a  full  half-hour  I  met  not  a  soul.  Then, 
turning  a  bend  of  the  lane,  in  the  distance  I 
saw  a  thin  film  of  pale  blue  smoke,  drifting 
and  winding  over  the  hedgerow,  wrapping  the 
dark  trunk  of  an  ivy-covered  ash  in  a  veil  of 
mist.  Where  there  is  smoke  there  is  fire. 
Where  there  is  fire,  evidence  of  human 
activity  may  be  inferred. 

A  little  beyond  the  ash  was  a  gate,  of  which 
one  of  the  bars  was  broken.  It  opened  into 
a  large  arable  field  of  some  twenty  acres, 
recently  sown  to  spring  wheat.  The  weather 
having  been  good,  it  looked  as  smooth  and  the 
soil  as  fine  as  many  a  garden  plot.  Close  by 
the  gate,  under  the  shelter  of  the  hedgerow, 


8  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

a  small  hut  had  been  set  up  against  the  bank, 
with  sides  and  roof  of  old  hurdles  left  for  this 
purpose  when  the  shepherd  moved  his  flock, 
and  the  fold  was  hauled  away  to  give  place  to 
the  plough.  The  roof  was  roughly  thatched 
against  the  rain  with  straw.  In  front  crackled 
the  little  fire  of  sticks  which  sent  its  smoke 
across  the  lane. 

On  the  bank  close  by,  beside  a  patch  of  white 
dead-nettles,  an  old  man  was  seated  in  the  sun. 
In  his  left  hand  he  held  a  hunk  of  bread  with 
a  thick  slice  of  cheese  laid  upon  it,  which  he  cut 
with  a  clasp  knife.  Between  his  feet  lay  an 
oaken  firkin  almost  black  with  age — one  of 
those  little  barrels,  not  so  common  now  as 
formerly,  in  which  labourers  used  to  carry 
their  drink  into  the  fields.  Ready  to  hand, 
leaning  against  the  hurdle,  was  a  rusty  old 
gun. 

At  the  approach  of  a  stranger  the  old  man 
stood  up. 

He  was  small  and  spare  with  a  face  that 
looked  shrivelled,  and  none  of  his  clothes  had 
been  meant  for  him.  He  wore  a  livery  over- 
coat which  doubtless  once  looked  smart  upon 


NEARING  SUTTON 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  9 

a  finer  man.  It  had  shed  its  buttons,  all  but 
one  close  under  the  collar — a  brass  button, 
which  clung  on  in  spite  of  adversity,  just  as 
a  solitary  yellow  apple  will  sometimes  cling 
in  spite  of  weather  to  a  leafless  winter  twig. 
His  trousers  were  buff,  of  the  sort  often  worn 
by  quarrymen,  and  tied  in  below  the  knees 
with  tar  twine.  His  boots  were  in  holes.  His 
hat,  a  Jim  Crow,  had  lost  its  band,  and  the  brim 
was  turned  down.  From  head  to  foot  he  was 
as  complete  a  scarecrow  as  ever  frightened 
rooks. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  I.  "  Don't  let  me  disturb 
you. 

"  I  had  a-zot  down  to  snabble  my  bit  o' 
nunch,"  explained  he,  with  a  grin.  He  spoke 
the  broadest  dialect  as  it  is  now  rarely  to  be 
heard.  I  will  not  attempt  to  convey  it  in 
spelling,  for  the  real  interest  of  rural  speech  lies 
more  in  its  retention  of  quaint  forms  and 
phrases  than  in  its  use  and  pronunciation  of 
forgotten  words. 

"  Your  nunch  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Ay,  well,  my  ten  o'clock,  then,  very 
likely  you  do  call  it,"  he  laughed. 


io  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

The  names,  now  fast  falling  into  disuse,  by 
which  the  workers  in  the  fields  called  their 
meals,  possessed  a  descriptive  quality  border- 
ing on  the  poetic.  The  villager  whose  business 
called  him  forth  soon  after  daybreak,  the 
shepherd  who  went  early  to  his  flock,  or 
the  carter  to  attend  to  his  horses,  had  a 
horror  of  going-  fasting-.  He  knew  better 
than  to  go  "abroad  on  an  empty  stomach." 
So  before  starting  he  fortified  himself  against 
the  early  morning  air  with  a  "dewbit,"  a 
morsel  sufficient  to  keep  off  hunger  until 
he  was  able  to  return  to  breakfast. 

At  ten  he  took  his  "  nunch  "  or  "  nuncheon," 
a  term  now  conveying  the  idea  of  an  inter- 
mediate snack,  but  originally  a  midday  out- 
of-door  meal  taken  in  the  shade. 

"  Laying  by  their  swords  and  truncheons 
They  took  their  breakfasts  or  their  nunchions." 

His  midday  meal,  enriched  by  a  thick  slice 
of  fat  bacon  and  maybe  an  onion  or  so,  he 
called  his  "nammet,"  a  contraction  of  "noon 
meat."  Thus,  with  the  aid  of  another  "nunch," 
he  held  on  to  the  evening,  when  the  fragrance 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  n 

of  fried  rasher  and  potato  welcomed  his  return 
to  the  cottage. 

"  That  is  to  say  if  they  black-coated  thieves 
will  but  let  me  bide  a  minute.  But  they  can't. 
I  do  know  they  can't.  They  be  back  so 
regular  as  Christians  so  soon  as  ever  I  do 
sit  myself  down." 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  at  three  rooks  which 
had  settled  on  a  tall  elm  growing  intheopposite 
hedgerow.  One  after  another  they  spread 
their  wings  and,  glistening  in  the  sunlight, 
slowly  dropped  from  the  branch  to  the  soil. 

"Come  three — come  thirty  in  two  ticks  o' 
the  clock.  They  be  so  sensible  as  folk  to  a 
fair.  Where  a  (ew  do  stop  tothers  do  see  an' 
join  the  crowd." 

He  marched  a  short  distance  into  the  field, 
and  I  saw  that  he  was  stiff  in  one  leg.  He 
waved  both  arms,  the  nunch  in  one  hand  and 
the  knife  in  the  other,  shouted  without  result, 
and  then  started  the  continuous  yodling  vocal 
exercise,  which  was  one  of  the  charms  of  seed- 
time in  the  days  before  the  school  withdrew 
the  bird-keeping  boys  from  the  landscape. 
The    rooks    bore    it    for  a  while,    then   rose 


12  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

leisurely  and  flew  away.  He  came  slowly 
back.  He  had  consumed  his  meal.  He  sat 
down,  closed  his  knife,  put  it  away,  and  took 
out  his  pipe. 

"  Have  a  fill  of  baccy.  I  haven't  heard  that 
old  song;  for  a  long  time." 

He  tapped  the  dog  out  of  his  clay  on 
the  heel  of  his  boot  and  filled  with  careful 
deliberation. 

"  I  did  my  first  day's  work  in  this  ground 
o'  wheat. 

'  Fly  away,  blacky-cap, 
Don't  you  steal  my  master's  crap 
While  I  lie  down  an'  take  a  nap.' 

Ha !  ha !  ha  !  "  With  a  lau^h  he  cut  short 
the  quaint  old  tune,  once  as  familiar  in  the 
early  months  of  spring  as  the  blackbird's 
song-.  "An'  I  don't  doubt  but  what  I  shall 
do  my  last  here.  Have  ee  got  sich  a  thing 
as  a  lucifer  about  ee,  Master  ?  " 

I  provided  a  match. 

"You've  done  many  things  between  then 
and  now." 

He  sheltered  the  lighted  match  with  his 
hands  and  puffed.      His  eyes  twinkled — they 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  13 

were  wrinkled,  puckered,  cunning  little  slits  of 
eyes.  He  chuckled,  as  one  who  can  take  a 
legitimate  pride  in  his  past. 

"I've  a-bin  a  shocken  bad  feller  in  my 
time,"  said  he. 

"  What  have  you  done,  then  ?  " 

"  Got  found  out  at  the  first  going  off,"  he 
laughed. 

"That  was  bad,"  I  assented. 

"  Master,"  said  he,  with  mock  solemnity, 
"that's  the  worst  folly  'pon  earth  that  any 
man  can  be  guilty  o'." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Only  a  hare,  Master.  Here  in  this  very 
ground  too.  A  moonlight  night  like  daylight 
an'  at  thik  very  gate.  I've  a-nabbed  a  many 
since,  but  that  were  the  first." 

"  Did  you  go  to  jail  ?  " 

"  No.  They  didn'  summon  me,  not  thik 
time.  An'  they  didn'  catch  me  no  more — 
not  here.  I  ought  to  ha  tookt  warnen.  But 
you  don't  in  youth,  you  see.  But,  mind  me, 
Master  " — he  raised  his  finger  with  an  air  of 
speaking  for  my  good — "poachen  is  no  good 
to  a  man.     'Tis  the  like  o'  this — what  can  a 


i4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

man  do  wi'  the  stuff?  What  could  I  do  ?  I 
could  but  carr'  it  up  to  '  The  Three  Cups ' 
master,  up  there  anighst  the  four  cross-roads. 
Shocken  bad  house  '  The  Three  Cups '  in  old 
days — always  was.  Card-playen,  smugglen 
— ay,  an'  worse.  An'  the  poacher  don't  get 
much,  an'  what  he  do  get  he  must  drink. 
An'  then  'tis,  '  Ah,  how  do  he  get  so  much 
drink  ?  Ah,  shocken  bad  feller,  that  you 
mid  depend — shocken  bad  feller !  shocken 
bad  feller  ! '  "  He  shook  his  head  and  spoke 
in  imitation  of  respectability  denouncing  the 
disreputable. 

"  I  didn'  bide  about  here  not  so  very  long- 
after  that.  Once  you  be  a  shocken  bad  feller 
you  can't  do  nothen  right.  I've  a-bin  a  pretty 
tidy  runabout  in  my  time — droveren  an'  what 
not,  up  the  country,  down  the  country,  here 
an'  there.  But  I  never  couldn'  keep  out  o'  it, 
Master.  Always — shocken  bad  feller.  Still, 
I  never  sought  no  help  till  I  squot  my  leg." 

"  How  did  that  happen  ?  " 

"  The  dairy-house  catched  a-fire,  Master.  I 
was  out  by  night,  as  it  fell  out.  They  said  as 
how  the  old  grammer  were  a  bedrod  in  the 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  15 

little  downstairs  room.  I  runned  in,  but  the 
beam  fell  in  an'  squot  my  leg.  They  pulled 
I  out,  but  they  couldn'  save  the  wold  ooman. 
She  were  smothered  in  the  smeech  o'  smoke 
like.  Oh,  they  behaved  very  handsome  to 
I.  When  I  corned  out  o'  hospital,  folk  clubbed 
money  together  to  buy  a  wooden  lag  second- 
hand. 'Tis  a  wonderful  sarviceable  lag,  mind. 
He  idden  such  a  very  bad  fit  neither,  an' 
you  can  wear  a  boot  'pon  un.  Then  I  were 
a-packed  home  to  my  own  parish." 

"  Well,  and  what  did  the  parish  say  then  ? " 

"They  said,  'Ah,  but  he  have  a-bin  a 
shocken  bad  feller.'  An'  eet  I  don't  know 
that  I  be  so  much  wo'se  than  some  that  be 
better  off."  He  was  beginning-  to  show 
symptoms  of  restlessness,  for  the  rooks  had 
come  back  more  numerous  than  before. 

"  Take  the  baccy,"  said  I.  "  How  far  is  it 
to  Sutton  ? " 

He  thought  awhile. 

"  To  Sutton!     Oh,  a  tidy  ways,"  said  he. 

"But  how  far?" 

"Ah,  a  goodish  step!" 

"  How  many  miles  ?  " 


16  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Now,  I  won't  tell  you  no  lie,"  said  he. 
"  You  had  better  to  ask  to  '  The  Three  Cups  ' 
up  there  by  the  four  cross-roads." 

So  we  parted,  and  long  before  I  was  out 
of  the  lane  I  heard  the  discharge  of  his  musket, 
and  rooks  passed  cawing  overhead. 

I  found  "TheThree  Cups,"  as  the  scarecrow 
had  described,  occupying  one  of  the  corners 
where  two  highways  intersect  each  other.  An 
enormous  provision  of  stabling  marks  it  a 
hostelry  at  which  in  old  days  coaches  changed 
horses,  and  the  cross-roads  probably  served 
as  a  junction  where  travellers  of  indirect 
route  changed  coaches.  But  whatever  the 
history  of  the  house,  it  carries  to-day  no  record 
of  past  iniquities  upon  its  smiling  face.  The 
front  is  covered  with  creepers,  chosen,  as  one 
may  believe,  to  be  bright  in  early  spring. 
Hundreds  of  bees  were  humming  amongst 
the  red  blossoms  of  a  japonica  between  the 
windows,  and  the  yellow  jasmine  was  in  full 
flower  upon  one  side  of  the  porch.  The  house 
stands  back  alittle  from  the  road,  and  the  space 
accommodates  a  long  horse-trough  and  a  lofty 
sign.     The  artist  of  the  signboard  must  have 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  17 

been  a  man  of  rare  and  sympathetic  imagina- 
tion ;  or,  it  may  be,  endowed  by  Nature  with 
extraordinary  thirst.  He  depicted  three  cups 
of  gigantic  size,  three  full  cups — full  to  the 
brim  and  crowned  with  mountains  of  froth 
that  trickled  down  the  sides.  And  the  door 
stood  invitingly  open. 

I  walked  into  a  large  kitchen.  A  wood  fire 
was  burning  on  a  Dutch  oven,  but  otherwise 
the  old  hearth  had  not  been  changed.  On  the 
chimney-shelf  were  marks  where  the  roasting- 
jack  had  once  been  made  fast.  Above  it  was 
a  rack  for  the  holding  of  spits  when  cleaned 
and  ready  for  use.  There  has  been  a  deal  of 
roasting  before  that  hearth  at  some  time  or  the 
other.  Yet  the  place  is  but  an  alehouse  kitchen 
now,  with  a  shove-halfpenny  board  carved 
upon  the  bench,  and  a  set  of  hooks  for  catch- 
ing rings  hanging  against  the  wall.  When 
the  landlady  of  "  The  Three  Cups  "  presently 
came  bustling  in  to  find  me  sitting  on  the  settle, 
she  seemed  concerned  at  my  presence  there. 

Mine  hostess  was  small,  neat,  sharp- 
featured,  with  a  deal  of  obseqiousness  in  her 
smile,  and  a  thin  voice,  which  might  at  any 


i8  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

moment  harden  into  truculence.  Wouldn't  I 
please  to  walk  into  the  parlour?  I  should 
find  it  much  more  pleasant  in  the  parlour,  and 
although,  to  be  sure,  there  was  no  fire  in  the 
parlour,  the  weather 

I  cut  her  short,  refusing  the  parlour  with 
decision. 

"  It's  just  as  you  like,  of  course,"  she 
assented,  with  the  slightest  tinge  of  acidity — 
enough  to  arouse  suspicion  that  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  might  be  turning  sour.  She 
mentioned  the  parlour  again  when  she  re- 
turned bringing  one  of  the  three  cups. 

"  You  get  few  people  here  now,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Not  so  early  in  the  year.  But  all  the 
summer  through  the  passing  is  wonderful. 
Cars,  bicycles,  and  on  foot.  This  house 
went  down  for  years.  There  is  a  dairy-farm 
do  go  with  it,  to  be  sure.  There  used  to  come 
only  a  drover,  or  folk  of  a  market-day,  or  the 
like  o'  that.  Now,  nine  months  o'  the  twelve, 
all  day  long  'tis  run  an'  draw,  an'  run  an'  draw, 
to  say  nothing  o'  teas  an'  now  an'  again  a 
bed.  Of  a  fine  day  all  four  roads  is  a  perfick 
stream.     We've  got  two  parlours." 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  19 

11  What  about  the  country  folk  around  ? " 
"They  drop  in  here  of  an  evening,"  she 
explained    with    condescension,    pointing    at 
the  bench   and  stools.     Then  she  went  her 
way. 

Scarcely  was  she  out  of  hearing  when  a 
heavy  step  approached  by  the  flagstone 
passage,  and,  with  a  nodded  "  Good-morn- 
ing," a  youth  of  twenty  came  in  and  took  a 
seat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth.  As 
he  sat  silent  and  did  not  call  for  refreshment 
it  appeared  evident  that  he  must  be  at  home. 
I  asked  him  what  he  would  take.  He  flat- 
tered me  by  choosing  a  cup  of  size  and  quality 
equal  to  my  own,  and  retired  to  draw  for 
himself. 

"  Do    people    ever    play    shove-halfpenny 
now  ? "  I  asked  when  he  came  back. 

"Very  few.     Only  the   rougher  sort  now 
and  again.      Never  the  better  class." 

"  What  do  they  do  of  an  evening,  then  ?  " 
He  fetched  a  tablegame,  of  which  he  seemed 
proud.      It  consisted   of  throwing  an   india- 
rubber  ring  over  a  wooden  peg.      He  showed 
how  it  was  done  in  the  highest  perfection. 


2o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"The  better  class  play  nothing  but  that," 
said  he. 

"  But  I  suppose  they  sing.  Old-fashioned 
songs,  now  !  Do  you  often  hear  any  very  old 
songs  ? " 

"  They  never  sing  here.  We  don't  never 
allow  no  singing,  except  on  the  night  of  the 
horse-show  or  fair-time.  Singing  do  sound 
too  drinky  to  anybody  going  by.  Besides, 
the  better  class  don't  care  for  singing.  If 
a  man  should  start  singing,  one  or  another 
of  the  better  class  would  tell  him  to  shut 
up. 

"  The  old-fashioned  drinks,  now — shrub, 
lamb's-wool,  purl,  do  people  ever  call  for 
them  now  ? " 

"  Hardly  ever.     The  better  class " 

But  I  would  hear  no  more.  A  scribbled 
note  in  a  pocket-book,  "The  Aristocracy  of 
the  Alehouse,"  and  I  rose  to  go. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Sutton  ?  " 

The  young  man  raised  his  voice  and 
shouted — ■ 

"Mother!    How  far  do  ee  call  it  to  Sutton?" 

Such  is  the  prudent  form  a  question  of  dis- 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  21 

tance  has  assumed  on  the  lips  of  all  true 
country  people. 

The  hostess  of  "The  Three  Cups"  came 
running  to  oblige.  Like  a  saleswoman  who 
has  not  the  thing  called  for,  she  did  her  best 
to  fit  me  with  what  she  had  in  stock. 

"I  couldn't  rightly  say,"  said  she,  "how 
far  it  is  to  Sutton,  but  'tis  just  over  fourteen 
mile  to  Willoughby  Leigh." 

She  followed  me  towards  the  door. 

"Good-morning,  sir.  Much  obliged,  sir. 
This  would  be  one  of  the  parlours  if  at  any 
time  you  should  be  passing.  Yes,  sir.  Good- 
morning,  sir." 

I  could  have  loved  "The  Three  Cups" 
better  in  the  old  days  of  smuggling,  poaching, 
card-playing — "ay,  and  something  worse," 
when  it  was  a  "shocken  bad  house,"  than  to- 
day with  its  one  eye  fixed  upon  the  parlour 
and  the  other  upon  passing  respectability. 

By  woods,  by  rivers,  through  hamlets  with 
thatched  homesteads,  and  between  fields  of 
all  shapes  and  sizes  the  old  coach  road  went 
on  and  on.  The  distance  to  Sutton  varied 
upon  no  system,  but  depended  upon  the  tern- 


22  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

perament  of  the  person  giving  reply.  On  one 
occasion  a  genial  optimist  gave  it  as  five  miles. 
Half  an  hour  later  a  pessimist  declared  it  to 
be  eight,  every  inch  of  it.  At  last,  at  the 
corner  of  a  narrow  byway,  I  found  a  one- 
armed  finger-post  bearing  the  legend  : 

To  Sutton — i  Mile. 
Five  minutes'  walk,  a  bend  of  the  road,  and 
Sutton  was  in  view. 

A  little  village  on  a  hillside  richly  timbered 
with  ancient  trees.  In  summer  only  the  tall 
church  tower  and  a  gable  of  the  Manor  House 
are  to  be  seen.  In  winter  and  before  the 
bursting  of  the  leaf  all  its  buildings  may  be 
discovered  playing  hide-and-seek  behind  the 
trunks  of  tall  elms  and  sturdy  oaks.  The 
straight  roof  lines  of  its  farms  and  homesteads 
are  to  be  found  and  lost  amongst  the  branches. 
The  ancient  tythe  barn  is  well  in  sight.  The 
fragment  of  the  old  priory  wall  looms  dark 
under  its  load  of  overgrown  ivy.  The  modern 
school  with  its  bell  turret  peers  out  of  a  gap 
between  the  trees  where  the  rookery  is  thick- 
est. Behind  the  village  rises  a  tall  hill  with 
a  higher  point  in  the  shape  of  a  cone.     Below, 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  SUTTON  23 

a  merry  trout  stream  rushes  along  and  dashes 
over  a  weir  at  the  head  of  a  still  mill-pond 
which  mirrors  the  trees  and  half-hidden  dwell- 
ings above. 

It  was  afternoon  when  I  reached  Sutton 
and  wanted  a  couple  of  hours  to  sunset.  The 
children  were  out  of  school  and  playing  sing- 
ing games  in  the  village  street.  An  engine 
drawing  a  thresher  was  panting  and  rumbling 
its  way  over  the  bridge.  The  old  mill-wheel 
was  humming  merrily.  There  was  a  bleating 
of  fresh  dropped  lambs.  A  voice  was  calling 
to  the  herd,  and  a  dog  was  barking  furiously. 
The  sounds  blended  into  a  symphony  of 
village  life — an  overture  to  the  events  of 
another  rural  year. 

And  on  the  topmost  twig  of  the  tallest  tree 
two  love-sick  rooks  were  sitting  side  by  side 
within  a  foot  of  a  half-built  nest. 


CHAPTER    II 

BACON  AND  EGGS 

The  only  rooms  in  Sutton  available  for  a 
visitor  are  to  be  found  in  a  house  conveniently 
situated  in  the  very  heart  of  the  village,  a 
really  imposing  edifice  with  a  large  projecting 
arched  porch,  surmounted  by  two  storeys  of 
mullioned  windows  and  crowned  by  a  gable 
jutting  out  from  the  main  roof.  The  rooms 
possessing  these  bay  windows  are  mine.  I 
took  them  gladly  on  the  assurance  of  my 
landlady,  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell,  that  for  four 
consecutive  years  they  had  once  been  in- 
habited by  "the  passon,"  whilst  the  rectory 
was  let.  Another  reason  for  doing  so  was 
their  complete  command  of  the  village  street. 
What  degree  of  lesser  gentry  may  have  dwelt 
in  this  small  mansion  in  days  gone  by  it  is  not 
possible  to  suggest.     It  is  called  the  Abbey, 


BACON  AND  EGGS  25 

and  was  a  fragment  of  a  religious  house  re- 
cently  built,  and  therefore  best  worth  saving 
from  the  destruction  of  the  dissolution.  When 
asked  to  whom  it  formerly  belonged,  Mrs. 
Josiah  Heppell  can  only  reply,  "Oh,  to  the 
old  Doctor  Thwaite,  to  be  sure.  Such  a  nice, 
pleasant  old  gentleman !  A  slight  cast  in 
the  right  eye  and  wore  a  white  hat."  Josiah 
Heppell,  the  present  occupier,  is  a  master- 
mason,  and  what  was  once  a  garden  at  the  side 
of  the  house  has  been  turned  into  a  builder's 
yard. 

From  the  first  moment  of  my  arrival  Mrs. 
Josiah  Heppell  proved  herself  a  woman  of 
promptitude  and  resource. 

To  the  inquiry,  "  Can  you  get  me  something 
to  eat  ? "  she  replied  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, "  Bacon  and  eggs." 

To  the  further  question  as  to  how  long  the 
meal  would  take  to  prepare  she  answered, 
"  Only  jus'  long  enough  to  fry  'em." 

Whilst  the  pan  was  frizzling  I  sat  in  my 
window,  which  is  almost  as  large  as  a  small 
room.  It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  the 
hour  of  leisure  in  village  life  which  precedes 


26  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

the  time  of  rest.  The  smaller  children  had 
been  called  indoors  ;  the  elder  brought  the 
portable  portions  of  their  suppers  into  the  road 
and  ate  thick  slices  of  bread  and  butter  on  the 
raised  paved  way  or  leaning  against  the  garden 
hatch.  All  the  cottages  in  Sutton  have 
gardens  in  front.  The  little  box-hedged 
borders  below  the  windows  of  a  few  were  gay 
with  clumps  of  jonquils,  but  the  season  for  a 
show  of  cottage  flowers  was  not  yet  come. 

Sometimes  a  woman  stepped  out  and 
scanned  the  road  in  search  of  a  loitering  child 
or  in  anticipation  of  the  return  of  her  "  man." 
Not  seeing  him  she  would  spare  time  for  a 
shrill  chat  with  a  friend  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road  or  a  gossip  with  a  neighbour  over  the 
garden  hedge. 

Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  (we  do  not  omit  the 
Christian  name  in  Sutton)  spread  my  table  in 
the  light  of  the  window. 

"  Sure !  "  said  she  as  she  stroked  a  crease 
out  of  the  cloth  with  her  fat  hand.  "  It'll  be 
something  for  Sutton  to  talk  about  that  a 
foreigner  is  come  to  stay  in  the  parish."  And 
all  the  while  she  kept  one  eye  upon  the  street. 


BACON  AND  EGGS  27 

"  I  suppose  you  have  always  lived  in  Sutton, 
Mrs.  Heppell?" 

She  answered  in  poetry  : 

"  Sutton  born, 
Sutton  bred, 
Sutton  kirsened, 
Sutton  wed. 
Please  God  to  lie  wi' 
Sutton  dead." 

Having  fetched  the  bacon  and  eggs  she 
returned  to  the  subject. 

"Oh  yes,  I  be  real  Sutton." 

Only  to  glance  at  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  is  to 
discern  that  she  is  the  genuine  article.  She 
is  of  about  the  middle  height  and  of  a  most 
contented  plumpness  suitable  to  her  three- 
score years.  Fashions  are  slow  to  change  in 
Sutton,  and  she  wears  her  hair  parted  in  the 
middle,  with  a  little  curl,  and  a  tortoiseshell 
comb  to  hold  it  in  place,  on  each  side  in  front 
of  her  cap.  Before  it  became  sprinkled  with 
grey,  her  hair  was  of  a  dark  brown,  yet  her 
complexion  is  fair  and  fresh-coloured.  Her 
features  are  of  a  placid  symmetry  and  her  brow 
as  innocent  of  wrinkles  as  a  village  maiden  in 
Dresden  china.      Such  immunity  comes  only 


28  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

of  a  simple  mind.  And  for  this  I  can  vouch, 
although  the  tongue  of  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell 
knows  no  more  of  weariness  than  a  mill- 
clapper,  from  that  day  to  this  I  have  never 
heard  her  breathe  one  word  of  envy  against 
the  rich  or  utter  a  syllable  in  belittlement  of 
any  humbler  neighbour. 

Whilst  I  ate  she  talked  and  talked,  but 
always,  as  I  have  said,  with  one  eye  upon  the 
street.  Her  perception  of  the  full  significance 
of  the  smallest  action  of  every  Sutton  person 
was  most  remarkable.  Let  but  a  passer  come 
into  view  in  the  far  distance  and  Mrs.  Josiah 
Heppell  at  once,  but  without  the  slightest 
pause,  would  break  off  the  smooth  sequence  of 
her  main  discourse  and  drop  her  voice  into  a 
mysterious  whisper.  Sometimes,  lest  she 
might  be  seen,  she  would  slightly  draw  back 
from  the  window  at  a  period  when  the 
approaching  figure  could  scarcely  have  dis- 
covered her  through  a  first-class  telescope. 
Thus  her  monologue  became  subject  to  a  con- 
stant alternation  of  tone,  and  rose  and  fell  like 
the  hum  of  a  threshing-machine  whilst  fresh 
sheaves  are  being  thrown  in  for  its  considera- 


BACON  AND  EGGS  29 

tion.  The  interpolated  passages  I  have 
written  in  italics.  Some  of  them  at  the  time 
were  not  easy  of  interpretation,  but  the  cor- 
rectness of  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell's  intuitions 
was  never  once  called  in  question  by  any  sub- 
sequently ascertained  fact. 

"  Oh  yes.  As  I  was  a-saying,  I  was  a  Dodd, 
an'  my  mother's  maiden  name  being  Priddle  I 
can  indeed  look  up  and  say  out  bold  '  I  be  real 
Sutton.'  Hoi  The  local  tremens.  Very  young 
an  not  much  experience,  I  should  think.  Young 
Dr.  Thwaite  being  bad,  an  away  for  his 
health.  Eight-and-forty  year  did  poor  dear 
old  Gran'father  Priddle  live  up  to  Greenclose 
Farm  an'  milked  five-an'-thirty.  Ha  !  Farmer 
William  Purchase.  Heve  a-got  his  twins  up 
in  Little  Croft,  where  do  lie  sheltered  and 
warm  to  the  sun.  Heve  a-ivalked  out  roun 
last  thing  afore  he  do  go  in  to  his  supper,  an 
that's  lambs -tail  pie,  so  sure  as  the  light,  for 
he  tailed  the  first  d  ' em  yesterday  morning,  an 
lambs  tails  be  sich  a  bother,  or  else  no  better  to 
■my  mind  'an  a  ball  d  worsted  between  the  teeth. 
The  maid  might  find  time  to  scald  'em  over- 
night, an  Mrs.  William  Purchase  roll  out  a 


30  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

bit  o  pie-crust  to-day  morning  to  have  cold  for 
supper.  Yes.  Eight-an'-forty  year  up  to 
Greenclose,  an'  died  in  the  end  o'  Saint 
Tantony's  Fire,  which,  to  be  sure,  as  was  only 
natural,  did  give  poor  mother  a  goodish  bit  o' 
proper  pride.  There  goes  John  Jeans  wi  a  fine 
faggot  to  his  back.  Heve  took  the  making  d 
the  hedge  d  the  great  wood.  Poor  mother  was 
most  terr'ble  against  Heppell ;  but  though  I 
was  but  twenty  I  stood  my  ground,  an'  this  I 
must  say,  in  a  manner  o'  speaking,  Heppell 
have,  he  really  an'  truly  have  justified  the 
choice,  for  we've  a-brought  up  lebem — an'  two 
in  the  grave — all  doing  well,  out  in  life  or  wi' 
their  father  in  the  shop.  Ha !  Miss  Cann,  a- 
stepping  out  so  brisk  in  her  green  skirt.  Shdve 
a-been  to  the  First  Aid.  Miss  Cann  started 
the  First  A  id.  Well,  whatever  there  is  new  in 
Stitton  Miss  Cann  really  an  truly  do  start, 
passon  being  so  old.  But  the  First  Aid  must 
ha'  corned  out  half  an  hour  agone.  Miss  Cann 
must  ha  been  in  along  wi  Miss  Litisher  Piir- 
chase  about  the  Sale  o'  Work.  Miss  Cann 
have  put  up  for  Board  d  Guardians,  an  there  s 
no  opposition,  so  she  s  bound  to  be  in.     Some  do 


BACON  AND  EGGS  31 

laugh.  I  do  like  Miss  Cann,  my  own  self. 
Not  but  what  mother  lived  to  respec'  Heppell, 
seeing  how  he  got  on,  an'  got  the  contract  for 

the  new  school,  an'"  worked Passon.    Poor 

old  man  !  There  he  do  jus  preach  but  painful 
to  listen.  Ought  to  be  a  pension,  I  do  call,  for 
all  passons  past  work.  Heve  a-been  up  to  John 
Grey  s.  John  Greydokilla  lamb  now  an  again. 
Heve  a-been  to  bespeak  the  fore-quarter,  by 
the  polyanthus  in  his  hand.  Yes.  An'  to  see 
how  Heppell  worked  for  all  the  gentry  round, 
an'  made  every  coffin  laid  in  Sutton  grave- 
yard for  the  last  thirty  year.  Ha  !  Here's 
Miller  Toop  an  Mr.  Buckmaster,  who  do 
take  his  rent,  a-walking  up  street  together. 
Then  'tis  all  settled,  for  certain  sure,  about 
the  new  hatch  down  to  weir.  They  be  on 
their  way  to  see  Heppell.  I'd  better  to  jus' 
run  an    warn  Heppell." 


CHAPTER    III 
TO  WALK  OUT  ROUND  LIKE 

"  I  suppose  you'll  take  a  walk  out  round  like," 
said  Mrs.  Heppell  as  she  laid  the  breakfast. 

I  supported  the  supposition  and  in  due 
course  carried  it  into  practice. 

To  my  thinking  the  most  attractive  dwell- 
ing in  Sutton  Street  is  the  Manor  House.  It 
stands  next  to  the  church,  and  there  is  a  wicket 
gate  opening  from  the  garden  into  the  church- 
yard. 

In  front  is  a  sloping  lawn  equally  divided  by 
a  broad  paved  path  having  a  mulberry  tree 
upon  the  right  hand  and  a  drooping  ash  upon 
the  left.  Surrounding  the  trunk  of  each  tree 
is  a  wooden  seat,  calling  up  visions  of  fra- 
grant tobacco,  of  a  cool  drink,  of  quiet  rest  in 
the  shade  of  a  summer  afternoon.  The  wall 
against  the  causeway  is  low  and  old  with  wall- 


TO  WALK  OUT  ROUND  LIKE  33 

flowers  growing  from  the  chinks.  Two  stone 
pillars  surmounted  with  spheres  support  a  pair 
of  wooden  gates  painted  white,  which  slope  to 
meet  each  other  and  form  a  pleasant  curve. 

The  house  itself  is  of  the  most  homely 
simplicity.  It  has  never  grown  or  put  forth 
wings,  but  remains  in  the  form  it  took  three 
centuries  ago.  The  door  is  of  oak,  studded 
with  nails,  hanging  by  a  pair  of  iron  hinges 
wrought  into  a  flowing  pattern.  The  old  latch 
is  still  there,  and  the  heavy  ring  by  which  it  is 
lifted  serves  also  the  purpose  of  a  knocker, 
although  there  is  an  iron  bell-handle  haneine 
at  the  side.  Above  the  door  is  an  heraldic 
ornament,  just  a  shield  and  mantling  carved 
on  a  large,  flat,  square  stone.  The  windows, 
two  on  each  side  of  the  door,  and  five  above, 
are  all  of  a  size,  with  overhanging  labels,  and 
upright  bars  between  the  mullions  to  support 
the  small  leaded  panes.  A  well-pruned  pear 
tree  spreads  over  the  whole  of  the  western 
end. 

In  the  barton,  on  the  side  away  from  the 
church,  is  a  large  thatched  barn.     The  great 
doors,    although    fairly    sound,    are    old   and 
3 


34  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

weather-stained.  The  thatch  is  smooth  and 
brown.  You  can  see  the  yellow  stacks  in  a 
mow-barton  behind  it  as  you  pass  down  the 
road,  and  in  a  paddock  close  by  is  a  dovecote. 
You  can  glimpse  the  orchard  and  the  tall 
mud  wall,  with  a  little  ridge  of  thatch  to  keep 
off  frost,  that  encloses  the  garden  at  the  back 
of  the  house. 

It  is  the  sort  of  place  which  tempts  one  to 
go  a-prying,  but  scarcely  had  there  been  time 
to  observe  these  details  when  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man  stepped  out  of  the  gate.  He 
was  plainly  dressed  in  a  Melton  jacket,  riding- 
breeches,  and  gaiters.  A  white  stock  enhanced 
the  brilliancy  of  his  florid  complexion.  See- 
ing a  loiterer  he  nodded. 

"  Good-morning.      Fine  morning." 

I  recognised  the  Mr.  William  Purchase  who, 
previous  to  supping  on  lambs'  tails  last  even- 
ing, had  been  to  see  his  twins. 

"  I  was  admiring  the  old  house,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  well !  A  useful  plain  place."  He 
spoke  in  the  off-hand  manner  of  a  man  too 
proud  to  praise  his  own. 

"  You  have  a  very  fine  old  barn." 


TO  WALK  OUT  ROUND  LIKE  35 

"  Walk  up.  Walk  up  and  see  it,  if  you  will." 
And  he  turned  back  whilst  speaking  and  led 
the  way. 

Mr.  William  Purchase  is  a  substantial 
man. 

That  is  the  adjective  by  which  I  have  since 
heard  him  described  by  all  the  country  round, 
and  it  fits  him  as  the  cup  fits  the  acorn.  It  is 
not  intended  to  depict  the  weight  and  dignity 
of  his  person.  There  are  other  phrases  more 
suitable  for  that  occasion.  For  instance,  "  A 
fine,  upstanding  man,  a  trifle  red  about  the 
gills,"  or,  "  A  man  like  a  church  tower,"  would 
either  of  them  find  more  favour  as  a  means  of 
identification.  The  word  substantial  refers 
only  to  the  solid  foundation  of  prosperity  upon 
which  Mr.  William  Purchase  stands.  For  he 
comes  of  a  long  stock  of  yeoman  ancestors,  and 
Sutton  Manor  House,  the  barn,  the  dovecote, 
and  the  land  he  farms  are  all  his  own.  Mr. 
William  Purchase  is  able  to  take  care  of  his 
own.  Although  little  over  forty  years  of  age, 
he  is  so  much  of  the  old  school  that  he  cannot 
even  buy  at  a  shop  without  hoping  for  an 
abatement.       "Come,    come.      Your   lowest 


36  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

figure,  mind.  And  remember  William  Pur- 
chase is  a  ready-money  man." 

He  opened  one  of  the  barn's  doors,  and  we 
went  in  and  stood  on  the  old  threshing-floor. 
He  pointed  to  the  roof.  "  All  chestnut — all 
chestnut  wood  to  keep  away  the  spiders," 
said  he. 

"  I  suppose  many  years  have  passed  since 
threshing  was  done  on  this  old  floor  ?  " 

"Not  altogether,"  laughed  he.  "There's 
one  man  left  in  the  parish  can  thresh.  I 
let  him  beat  out  a  bit  o'  rye  with  the  flail 
some  time  back.  Half  in  joke  and  half  to 
suit  my  own  convenience.  And  may  again, 
for  all  I  know,  before  I  die,  please  God." 

We  came  out  of  the  dim  barn  into  the 
daylight.  A  brilliant  idea  flashed  upon  the 
mind  of  Mr.  William  Purchase. 

"  I  was  just  starting  to  walk  out  round  when 
I  fell  in  wi'  you.  Would  you  care  to  just  walk 
out  round  like  ?  " 

It  is  the  summit  of  quiet,  open-air  enjoy- 
ment "to  walk  out  round  like." 

We  passed  through  the  orchard,  so  cun- 
ninglyplantedthatwhichever  waythe  eyelooks 


TO  WALK  OUT  ROUND  LIKE  37 

it  finds  a  glade.  There  was  a  ragged  missel- 
thrush's  nest  with  eggs  in  the  fork  of  one  of 
the  trees.  Chaffinches  were  singing  on  the 
branches,  and  longtailed  tits  flitted  from  twig 
to  twig.  A  gander  and  four  white  geese 
came  towards  us,  one  with  a  brood  of  ten 
early  little  yellow  goslings.  They  stretched 
forward  their  long  necks  and  hissed.  A  sow 
with  a  litter  of  about  a  dozen  grave  a  grunt 
and  with  slow  deliberation  moved  away. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  all  my  stock  every 
day  of  my  life,"  said  Mr.  William  Purchase  as 
we  walked  along-.  "  But  it  can't  be  done. 
There's  so  much  public  business  now — 
County  Council  and  one  thing  and  the  other. 
I've  given  up  the  Board  of  Guardians.  We 
don't  make  paupers  in  Sutton.  There  is  one 
Sutton  man  there,  Micah  Clarke,  but  he  is 
but  a  poor  half-witted  fellow.  He  could  do 
well  enough.  But  he  can't  keep  away  from 
the  drink.  Ha  !  ha !  Miss  Cann,  a  lady  up 
here,  is  returned  unopposed.  I  am  not,  my- 
self, against  a  woman — or  even  two — with  a 
seat  upon  a  Board.  A  woman  can  at  times 
be  very  useful — very  useful  indeed.     But  not 


38  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

too  many — not  too  many — not  too  many." 
He  repeated  the  words  with  increasing  em- 
phasis as  he  considered  the  awful  results  of 
a  superfluity  of  women  on  a  Board.  We  had 
come  to  a  stile  in  the  orchard  hedge.  He 
paused  with  one  leg  over  the  rail,  shook  his 
head,  and  said  in  a  deep,  impressive  tone, 
"  That's  the  danger.  There'll  be  the  very 
devil  to  pay  if  we  should  ever  get  too  many." 

We  walked  across  a  piece  of  winter  wheat 
fresh  and  green  as  grass.  A  skylark  soared 
over  his  future  nesting-place,  but  his  carol  was 
brief  compared  with  his  summer  song. 

We  stood  on  the  bank  and  olanced  over 
the  hedge  at  a  piece  of  spring  wheat.  On  the 
broad  expanse  of  the  field  the  eye  could  just 
detect  the  springing  crop  in  drill,  like  a  thin 
green  thread  in  a  striped  pattern. 

"Went  in  wonderful  well,  to  year,"  said 
Mr.  William  Purchase. 

There  was  no  old  bird-keeper  this  time. 
There  were  no  rooks.  In  the  middle  of  the 
ground  was  a  "mommet,"  and  close  by,  as  it 
appeared,  an  inverted  tin  bucket,  from  which 
came  a    sudden    explosion    and    a    cloud    of 


TO  WALK  OUT  ROUND  LIKE  39 

smoke.  "  Spring  gun.  Go  off  every  twenty 
minutes,"  explained  Mr.  William  Purchase. 
"  Now  rooks  be  artful  birds.  They'll  soon 
get  used  to  a  mommet.  They'll  go  and  pitch 
on  his  head.  And  they're  soon  back  after  the 
report  of  a  gun  if  they  don't  see  any  man. 
But  that  smoke  do  prove  it  gospel.  They've 
got  to  believe  when  they  do  see  that  smoke. 
However,  this'll  pretty  quick  be  up  out  o'  the 
way  o'  the  birds,  come  a  nice  warm  shower 
upon  it." 

Over  a  five-barred  gate  and  we  came  upon 
a  broad,  rough  slope. 

Here  and  there  were  clumps  of  gorse,  and 
the  linnets  had  returned  to  them.  Three 
pairs  of  lapwings  rose,  circled  over  our  heads 
upon  whirring  wings,  turned,  dropped  in  the 
air,  and  flew  away  on  a  broad  circuit  over  the 
arable  grounds.  On  the  ground  in  all  direc- 
tions  were  patches  thinly  bestrewn  with  hay, 
remnants  of  many  feeds,  the  trusses  having 
been  divided  so  that  the  weak  or  the  meek 
might  fare  as  well  as  the  strong  and  trucu- 
lent. 

"  Now    I    fancy,"   Mr.   William     Purchase 


4o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

paused  on  the  word  with  an  affectation  of 
modest  doubt,  "  I  can  show  you  a  little  lot 
of  promising  young  stock." 

The  beasts  were  standing  all  around,  quiet, 
placid,  with  a  lazy  contentment  begotten  of 
the  sunny  warmth  shed  down  upon  their 
backs  out  of  a  clear  spring  sky. 

"There!  there!"  pointed  Mr.  William 
Purchase.  "That  white-faced  one — she's  a 
very  likely  heifer  now.  And  the  red — she 
really  ought  to  make  a  very  handsome  beast. 
She  did.  With  luck,  that  is  to  say,  with 
luck,  of  course."  Then  we  strolled  round 
looking  at  one  after  another. 

"Count  'em,"  said  Mr.  William  Purchase. 

"  Thirty-seven." 

"That's  right.  Seven-and-thirty.  So 
none  has  taken  wino-  in  the  nisdit.  Come 
along.  There's  a  few  colts  in  this  paddock. 
They've  had  a  bit  of  corn  through  the  winter 
over  in  the  shed.  Nothing  much.  Nothing 
much.  Well,  the  bay  ought  to  make  a  use- 
ful mare.  But  hark  !  There's  Sutton  church 
clock.  There's  just  time  to  go  into  Little 
Croft  and  see  my  ewes  and  doubles.     Then 


ON  SUTTON  MANOR— HOME  FARM 
Front  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


v  , 


HB2 


w£$ 


TO  WALK  OUT  ROUND  LIKE  41 

you'll  walk  down  and  take  pot  luck  with  Mrs. 
William  Purchase.  Yes,  you  will — yes,  you 
will." 

All  the  parish  of  Sutton  slopes  towards  the 
south,  but  the  Little  Croft  is  the  sunniest  field 
there  is. 

"Ha!  ha!  A  man  from  town  came  in 
here  with  me  one  day,"  laughed  Mr.  William 
Purchase.  "'What  breed  of  sheep  is  this? 
Why,  they  all  have  twins ! '  But  I  put  the 
doubles  here.  Little  Croft  is  a  fortnight 
earlier  than  any  place  I've  got.  See  how 
green  it  is.  There's  a  nice  bite  o'  sweet 
grass  already,  and  we  feed  'em  well  in  the 
troughs  there." 

All  around  was  bleating  of  every  conceiv- 
able note  and  pitch.  From  ewes  which  had 
lost  a  lamb,  and  from  thirsty  lambs  that  were 
looking  for  their  mothers.  Lambs  were  rac- 
ing. Lambs  were  frolicking.  Lambs,  sound 
asleep,  lay  stretched  out  as  if  they  were  dead. 
Lambs,  one  on  each  side,  went  butting  their 
heads  into  a  milky,  sweet-smelling  udder, 
sucked,  and  wriggled  their  tails  with  delight. 

"There!"    cried    Mr.    William    Purchase 


42  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

with  enthusiasm.  "  To  walk  out  round  like, 
of  a  fine  morning,  to  look  at  stock — all 
contented,  all  doing  well " — he  threw  back 
his  head  and  made  a  rhetorical  pause  between 
each  word — "is — my — delight." 

Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  proved  to  be  correct 
in  every  detail. 

I  lunched  from  a  portion  of  a  lambs'-tail  pie 
left  over  from  the  evening  repast. 


CHAPTER    IV 

OLD    ABE 

Just  off  the  high  road,  but  only  a  short  dis- 
tance up  the  lane,  stands  an  old  cottage  with 
mud  walls,  and  a  squat  thatched  roof  with  a 
little  chimney  of  red  brick  at  one  end.  It 
has  but  two  small  windows  all  told,  one  of 
them  below,  on  one  side  of  the  door,  the  other 
upstairs,  in  the  middle,  and  close  under  the 
eaves.  It  may  therefore  be  inferred  that  it 
possesses  but  two  rooms.  As,  however,  it  has 
only  one  inhabitant,  they  are  to  be  deemed 
sufficient.  The  more  so  as  there  is  a  small 
lean-to  shed  against  the  chimney  end  of  the 
building,  very  useful  for  locking  up  tools  and 
other  odd  thino-s. 

O 

In  the  landscape  this  dwelling  is  con- 
spicuous, but  from  the  lane  it  is  scarcely  to  be 
seen.     The  lane  is  in  a  hollow  and  the  hedge- 


44  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

row  at  the  top  of  the  bank  is  too  high  to  be 
overlooked  excepting  by  a  passer  on  horse- 
back. Periwinkles  intermingle  their  shining 
leaves  amongst  the  ivy  and  bear  their  purple 
flowers  in  profusion  over  the  bank,  a  sure 
sign  that  there  is,  or  at  some  time  has  been, 
a  garden  near  the  place.  There  is  a  wicket 
gate  opening  upon  a  flight  of  cracked  stone 
steps  which  lead  up  to  the  cottage. 

Almost  all  humble  rural  habitations  carry 
on  their  faces  some  si^ns  of  their  origin. 
They  were  obviously  built  to  provide  dwell- 
ings for  labourers  on  a  farm  ;  or  they  were 
the  homesteads  of  very  small  holdings  which 
no  longer  exist ;  or  they  were  put  up  by 
squatters  upon  a  piece  of  waste  and  after- 
wards enclosed.  This  one  may  perhaps 
belong  to  the  period  when  it  was  not  legal, 
except  by  especial  permission  of  the  Justices, 
to  build  a  cottage  without  laying  thereto  four 
acres  of  land.  The  garden  of  Old  Abe's 
cottage  is  so  unexpectedly  large  for  the  size 
of  the  dwelling,  and  yet  so  evidently  belongs 
to  it,  that  it  may  possibly  be  all  that  re- 
mains of  some  such  ancient  allotment.    When 


OLD  ABE  45 

Sutton  folk  mention  Old  Abe's  cottage  they 
dismiss  it  briefly  as  "a  terr'ble  one-eyed 
place "  ;  but  they  will  talk  for  half  an  hour 
of  the  merits  of  the  garden,  where  seeds  will 
come  up  earlier  than  anywhere  in  the  whole 
parish,  and  anything  planted  is  certain  to 
take  root. 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Sutton  that  the 
parents  of  Old  Abe  brought  up  ten  sons 
in  that  cottage.  That  they  all  grew  up  fine 
straight  men  as  any  you  might  meet  in  a  day's 
journey.  That  they  went  abroad,  went  to  be 
soldiers,  went  to  one  thing  and  another — but 
all  went,  excepting  Old  Abe,  who  was  the 
youngest,  and  the  shortest  by  two  inches. 
The  old  fellow  stoops  now,  and  yet  must  be 
very  nearly  six  feet  when  he  stands  up  for  a 
rest,  from  bending  over  his  spade  or  his  mat- 
tock, and  holds  himself  upright. 

The  cottage  is  a  dream  of  colour  all  the 
year  through.  The  old  man  reveals  some 
touch  of  quaint  character  wherever  you  may 
meet  with  him.  They  belong  to  each  other, 
and  when  Old  Abe  departs  the  cottage  will 
be  pulled  down.     Nowhere  is  such  a  wealth 


46  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

of  roses  to  be  seen  as  on  the  old-fashioned 
seven  sisters  that  climbs  over  the  front. 
"  Ah  !  Old  Abe  do  know  the  way  to  cut  un 
back,  sure  'nough."  Nowhere  is  there  such 
a  scent  of  gilawfers,  pinks,  and  mignonette  as 
on  the  front  garden-path  after  a  summer  rain. 
"Ah  !  Old  Abe  do  grow  a  few  flowers  for 
his  bees,  an'  no  mistake."  Nowhere  in  the 
parish  are  dahlias  more  faultless,  of  deeper 
crimson,  or  a  brighter  gold,  than  Old  Abe 
can  give  when  the  church  is  decked  for 
thanksgiving  after  harvest  is  in.  "Ah  !  Thik 
Old  Abe  have  a-got  the  knack  wi'  delyers, 
an'  that's  the  truth." 

Even  its  defects  add  something  to  the 
charm  of  this  poor  dwelling. 

The  stains  on  the  whitewash  where  rain  has 
dripped  through  the  eaves  are  as  of  ochre  and 
of  burnt  umber.  The  moss  on  the  old  brown 
roof  is  green  as  grass,  except  where  Old  Abe 
has  renewed  the  thatch  in  patches  of  varying 
shades  of  yellow  up  to  the  brightness  of  last 
season's  reed.  The  ladder  used  for  these  re- 
pairs hangs  on  the  end  of  the  house,  near 
neighbour  to  a  couple  of  rusty  hoops  awaiting 


OLD  ABE  47 

an  opportunity  for  usefulness  that  will  never 
come  to  them.  The  two  leaning  apple  trees 
in  front  are  held  up  with  props  almost  as  big 
as  their  own  trunks.  But  thus  in  spring  they 
do  but  embower  the  cottage  with  blossom,  and 
in  autumn  half  hide  it  behind  masses  of  rosy 
fruit. 

If  this  description  may  seem  but  a  false 
glorification  of  a  mere  hovel  not  fit  to  remain, 
it  is  perhaps  in  some  measure  a  reflection  of 
Old  Abe's  contentment  with  his  place.  "Rain 
or  shine  they  old  cob  walls,"  he  says,  "  be  so 
dry  as  a  oven.  Why,  let  alone,  they'd  see 
out  some  o'  these-here  new  houses  one  brick 
thick,  that  do  shake  wi'  fearcome  a  puffo'  wind, 
an' the  winders  rattle  like  a  drum."  The  talk 
of  Old  Abe  is  largely  made  up  of  similes.  He 
does  not  invent  them  for  himself.  They  came 
to  him  a  vast  accumulated  treasure  of  o-ems 
of  speech,  handed  down  from  a  long  line  of 
rural  forefathers.  The  modern  generation, 
being  educated,  do  not  take  up  the  inherit- 
ance. Should  you  happen  next  winter  to  buy 
a  stick  of  celery  of  Old  Abe,  you  will  find  it 
bite  off  "  as  crips  an'  short  as  a  young  carrot." 


48  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

He  will  warrant  it  to  break  abroad  "  so  white 
as  a  hound's  tooth." 

The  most  striking  possession  of  Old  Abe  is 
his  face.  It  is  no  absurd  assortment  of  eyes, 
nose,  mouth,  and  chin,  such  as  may  be  met 
by  the  score  at  any  country  market  or  fair. 
There  is  nothing  bucolic  about  it.  The  hair 
is  brown,  the  brows  are  straight,  the  eyes  grey, 
the  nose  aquiline,  the  mouth  well-formed,  and 
the  chin  deep  and  strong.  There  is  present 
in  it  a  refinement  from  which  the  weather- 
stained  old  jacket  or  the  patch  on  the  knee  of 
the  trousers  cannot  detract.  One  feels  in- 
stinctively that  he  must  have  come  from  the 
well-bred.  Old  Abe's  head  might  serve  a 
painter  as  a  model  for  a  viking.  Such  as  he 
has  served  the  ethnologist  for  many  a  surmise 
concerning  race.  Many  a  worse  countenance 
may  be  found  as  frontispiece  to  some  in- 
tellectual work  of  reputation.  Yet  Old  Abe 
is  no  scholar.  When  there  is  an  account  to 
deliver,  his  married  daughter  writes  it  for  him. 
When  a  receipt  is  asked  for,  Old  Abe  signs 
his  mark — "a  chris-cross."  His  married 
daughter  steps  across  to  tidy  up  his  house,  and 


OLD  ABE  49 

through  the  open  door  you  may  see  the  plates 
and  dishes  on  the  dresser  shelf  shining  clean 
and  bright.  His  son-in-law  has  a  pony  and 
cart,  and  the  garden  produce,  when  there  is 
any,  is  driven  into  the  market-town  of  a 
market-day. 

Old  Abe  has  never  been  a  regular  labourer 
upon  any  one  farm.  He  was  brought  up  to 
the  independence  of  this  garden  as  his  father 
before  him.  Yet  in  all  the  arts  and  crafts  of 
country  life  he  excels,  and  the  present  genera- 
tion gives  him  little  satisfaction.  His  chief 
accusation  is  that  "folk  don't  take  time,  now- 
adays, to  consider  the  real  natchur  o'  things. 
Why,  if  'tis  plant  a  apple  tree,  'tis  dap  un  in, 
trample  un  down,  there-right,  out  o'  hand, 
all  to  once.  But  I  do  like  to  spread  out  the 
mores  an'  little  roots  wi'  my  fingers,  kindly 
like,  an'  work  the  fine  soil  in  between  gentle- 
like, an'  then  he  do  not  only  live  but  thrive. 
For  that's  in  the  natchur  o'  it.  An'  if  I  do 
make  an'  lay  a  old  hedge,  there,  I  do  aim 
to  leave  un  so  pretty  as  a  picture,  I  do.  But 
la  !  What  be  the  hedges  about  some  places 
these  times  ?     'Tis  a  han'ful  o'  dead  sticks, 

4 


5o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

wi'  all  the  natchur  agone,  two  postes  an'  a 
barbed  wire.  There !  to  see  some  o'  the 
hedges  " — and  Old  Abe  mournfully  shakes  his 
head — "do  make  I  so  sick  as  a  pig." 

So,  what  with  haymaking,  harvesting, 
thatching  a  hayrick  or  a  cornstack,  hedging, 
and  so  on,  there  is  always  a  job  for  Old  Abe 
when  he  wants  it.  You  may  meet  with  him 
at  many  times  and  places.  He  keeps  his 
church  ;  and  of  a  Sunday  morning,  attired 
in  the  black  suit  kept  for  worship  and  funerals, 
walks  down  the  village  street  just  when  the 
chimes  are  cominsf  to  an  end.  "  I  don't 
always  set  such  a  wonderful  store  by  the 
sarmint,"  says  Old  Abe,  "but  I  do  dearly 
love  to  be  read  to." 

What  education  might  have  made  of  Abe 
it  can  now  be  of  no  service  to  consider.  He 
is  almost  the  last  of  a  fast-vanishing  type. 
That  he  is  an  original  thinker  you  will  be  sure, 
when  you  have  some  day  walked  with  him  in 
his  garden  of  a  quiet  Sunday  afternoon  in 
summer. 


CHAPTER   V 

A  FEW  BUNDLES  O'  REED 

After  those  days  of  gentle  spring  there 
came  an  unexpected  hurricane  in  the  night. 
It  played  a  good  many  pranks  in  the  village  ; 
and  then  the  morning  shone  with  a  serene 
gentleness,  as  if  wishing  to  take  a  lenient 
view  of  what  the  night  had  done. 

After  an  early  breakfast,  at  the  time  when 
the  brain  is  the  clearest,  the  brightest  intel- 
lects of  Sutton  met  in  contemplation  of  the 
various  items  of  damage  committed.  The 
gale  had  brought  down  the  head  of  an  ancient 
elm  which  for  centuries  had  stood  in  one 
corner  of  what  was  once  the  village  green. 
The  unanimity  of  Sutton,  when  not  involved 
in  a  parish  dispute,  is  phenomenal. 

"Oh  well,  the  old  tree's  down,"  said 
Josiah  Heppell  gravely,  with  an  air  of  giving 


52  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

information.  The  success  in  life  of  Josiah 
Heppell  expresses  itself  in  a  grey  tweed  suit 
of  unquestionable  respectability,  and  a  pair  of 
shining  brown  gaiters  buttoned  over  his  folded 
trouser  legs.  He  is  a  stout,  serious-looking 
man  with  a  grizzly,  scrubbing-brush  beard  and 
a  shaven  upper  lip.      "  He's  down  !  " 

"Oh  ay,  he's  down,"  agreed  Miller 
Toop,  a  youth  with  a  fair  moustache  and 
a  pink  complexion  peering  through  a  thin 
deposit  of  flour. 

Baker  Heath  glanced  from  one  to  the  other. 
A  thin,  sallow  face  with  a  billy-goat  beard, 
his  mission  in  life  is  to  bake  a  good  loaf  and 
warmly  corroborate  all  who  eat  bread. 

"  He's  down,  sure  'nough  !  " 

"  I  always  said  he  would  come  down — 
sooner  or  later,"  reflected  Josiah.  "  He  did 
creaky  so.  He  did  moany  for  all  the  world 
like  a  Christian.  I  said  he'd  come  down  some 
day,  certain  sure,  tother  way  a-top  o'  Widow 
Teape's  house,  an'  het  in  the  roof.    I  did,  then. " 

Josiah,  conscious  that  each  of  his  predic- 
tions displayed  every  feature  of  a  first-class 
prophecy  except  fulfilment,  spoke  with  pride. 


A  FEW  BUNDLES  O'  REED  53 

"  I  do  know  you  did,"  said  Baker  Heath, 
with  an  air  of  taking  his  oath  of  it. 

But  the  great  elm  had  knocked  a  hole  in  the 
parsonage  wall.    They  went  to  look  at  the  gap. 

"  Now,  there's  a  job  for  a  mason,  Josiah." 

"Ay,  there's  a  job  for  a  builder,  Mr. 
Heppell." 

"  Hullo  !  hullo  !  "  cried  Josiah  Heppell,  for 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  gable  of  the 
Manor  House  barn.  "The  stroke  o'  the 
wind  have  a'  catched  the  corner  o'  Mr.  William 
Purchase's  thatch." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  miller,  keeping  up 
the  joke.      "  But  that's  no  job  for  a  mason." 

"  No,  no,  that's  no  job  for  a  builder,  Mr. 
Heppell." 

"  That's  a  job  for  a  thatcher." 

"  Sure  'nought.     A  job  for  a  thatcher." 

They  strolled  up  to  look  at  it,  and  found 
Mr.  William  Purchase  out  in  the  barton  yard 
considering  the  matter.  The  wind  had  lifted 
the  thatch  on  one  side  of  the  gable  over  the 
barn's  door,  leaving  the  rafters  bare  above 
the  eaves,  and  the  thatch  above  the  gap 
bristling  like  the  back  of  a  hedgehog. 


54  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Ha !  The  old  barn,  mind,  had  a  bit  o' 
a  fright,  I'll  warrant  it,"  said  Josiah,  with  a 
knowing  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Made  his  hair  stand  on  end,  no  mis- 
take," added  Miller  Toop. 

Then  Baker  Heath  puckered  his  fore- 
head. 

"Now,  shall  I  tell  ee  what  I  do  think?" 
he  ventured,  yet  glanced  from  one  to  the 
other  with  the  self-satisfaction  of  one  who 
knows  that  he  has  an  original  truth  to  offer, 
no  matter  how  it  may  be  received.  "  Because 
I  do  think  that  Mr.  William  Purchase  will  be 
wanting  a  few  bundles  o'  reed." 

"Ay,  sure  !  Mr.  Purchase  'ull  want  a  few 
bundles  o'  good  reed." 

"  An'  that's  no  more  'an  truth.  Not  so 
terr'ble  many,  but  a  tidy  few  bundles  o'  real 
good  reed." 

"  And  that,"  said  Mr.  William  Purchase, 
"  is  just  what  I  have  not  got." 

They  all  roared  with  laughter.  The  de- 
ficiencies and  perplexities  of  their  neighbours 
provide  the  raw  material  for  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  humour  of  Sutton. 


A  FEW  BUNDLES  O'  REED  55 

"You'd  better  to  find  a  job  for  Old  Abe, 
sir,"  laughed  the  builder. 

"  Yes.     Ha  !  ha  !  a  job  for  Old  Abe." 

To  the  surprise  of  everybody  Mr.  William 
Purchase  grave  serious  consideration  to  the 
matter. 

"There's  many  a  true  word  spoken  in 
joke,"  said  he,  and  he  turned  smiling  to  me. 
"You  remember  you  were  asking  when  the 
old  threshing  floor  was  last  used.  I  believe 
now  you've  got  a  fancy  for  all  such  old 
thinofs.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  encourasre 
you  with  a  bit  o'  old-fashioned  threshing. 
The  machine  bruises  the  straw  and  spoils  it 
for  good  thatching.  Of  course  we  can  cut 
off"  the  ears  and  have  the  reed  as  it  grew. 
Old  Abe  is  the  only  man  left  can  thresh  with 
a  flail,  and  he  can't  last  for  ever.  Yes,  I 
will— I'll  find  a  job  for  Old  Abe." 

Then  the  villagers  dispersed,  laughing  and 
repeating  to  each  other — ■ 

"  A  job  for  Old  Abe  !  " 


CHAPTER   VI 

THRESHING— OLD  AND  NEW 

Thump  !     Thump  !     Thump  !     Thump  ! 

The  front  doors  of  the  barn  were  open  wide 
and  the  afternoon  sunlight  was  falling  aslant 
across  the  old  threshing  floor.  It  was  still  in 
good  repair,  with  its  broad  elm  planks  neatly 
laid,  and  the  spirting-board  remained  undis- 
turbed on  either  side  to  keep  the  corn  from 
being  driven  off  the  floor.  The  old  build- 
ing was  designed  to  meet  the  requirements  of 
agricultural  conditions  very  different  from 
those  of  the  present  day.  In  olden  days  the 
corn  was  hauled  home  to  the  mow-barton  to 
be  threshed  as  convenience  and  the  variations 
of  the  markets  might  suggest.  There,  close 
to  the  homestead,  the  yellow  stacks  were 
raised  above  the  damp,  and  safe  from  the  rats, 
on  mow-staddles — those  stone  columns  with 

56 


OLD  ABE— FLAILING 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  K.E. 


THRESHING— OLD  AND  NEW  57 

flat  projecting  caps,  that  looked  so  much  like 
giant  mushrooms  and  may  still  be  seen  lying 
abandoned  in  odd  corners  around  the  farm- 
yard. The  broad  doors,  back  and  front, 
were  wide  and  high  enough  for  a  loaded 
waggon  to  pass  through,  so  that  the  rick  to 
be  threshed  might  be  taken  into  the  shelter 
of  the  barn  and  remain  secure  from  rain  whilst 
the  corn  was  slowly  beaten  out  by  flail. 

Thump  !  Thump  !  Thump  !  Thump  ! 

Again  there  was  a  heap  of  yellow  sheaves 
piled  in  one  of  the  bays.  A  few  bundles  of 
reed  neatly  bound  up  with  hazel  withes  loomed 
out  of  the  gloom,  and  in  front  of  them  on  the 
barn's  floor  was  Old  Abe,  threshing  after  the 
ancient  manner.  His  sleeves  were  rolled 
above  his  elbows.  His  shirt  was  unbuttoned 
and  open  at  the  throat.  A  pair  of  red  braces 
hung  as  festoons  around  his  hips,  and  he  wore 
a  broad  leathern  belt.  A  narrow  strap  of  leather 
also  encircled  each  wrist.  With  skilful  regu- 
larity he  swung  the  flail  over  his  head  ;  and, 
as  it  descended  on  the  ears  of  the  sheaf  spread 
out  before  him,  the  straw  leapt  and  quivered, 
the  corn  and  chaff  scattered  upon  the  floor. 


58  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Thump  !     Thump  !     Thump  !     Thump  ! 

He  stopped  to  lay  down  another  sheaf. 

The  old  man  was  proud  of  his  work,  proud 
also  of  the  quaint  old  tool  which  years  ago  he 
had  in  part  made  himself.  Like  all  home- 
made implements  it  showed  a  careful  adapta- 
tion of  materials  easily  within  reach.  No 
doubt,  by  a  gradual  evolution,  ages  ago  it 
attained  to  its  simple  perfection  and  remained 
unchanged  for  centuries,  to  be  abruptly  cast 
aside  at  last.  Old  Abe  became  fondly  re- 
miniscent as  he  showed  and  explained. 

The  handle,  "handstick"  Old  Abe  called 
it,  was  a  fine  stick  of  ash  that  doubtless  grew 
half  a  century  ago  in  Sutton  Wood.  "  My 
poor  father  cut  thik  han'stick  when  I  was  a 
lad.  He's  sound  now  an'  tough  as  a  hempen 
rope.  'Tis  ten  year  since  I  last  handled  un. 
I  do  hang  un  up  to  kitchen  wall,  an'  folk  do 
look  at  un  for  a  cur'osity  like." 

At  the  end  of  the  handstick  was  a  revolv- 
ing cap.  Old  Abe  twisted  it  round  to  show 
how  it  would  work.  "  Now  that's  the  capel," 
said  he,  "and  what  do  ee  think  he's  a-made 
o'  ?  "     He  chuckled  to  himself.      "  'Tis  ram's 


THRESHING— OLD  AND  NEW  59 

horn.  We  did  boil  the  horn  to  work  it.  Do 
boil  soft,  but  pretty  soon  get  hard  again.  Tis 
half  a  ram's  horn,  bent  round  so  as  the  two 
half  hollows  do  meet  an'  make  a  circle  round 
the  stick  and  a  loop  at  the  end.  Ah  !  he  was 
a  wonderful  fine  ram  that  wore  thik  horn,  no 
mistake.  We  did  burn  the  holes  wi'  a  hot 
iron  to  put  the  thong  through  that  do  bind 
this  'capel,'  as  we  did  call  it,  to  the  grooves 
inside  cut  'pon  the  han'stick.  This  one's  tied 
on  wi'  a  eelskin — I  catched  un  down  here  to 
mill,  my  own  self.  The  cudgel  that  do  swing 
is  the  flail.  He's  made  o'  holly  a'most  so  hard 
as  flint.  The  whole  concarn  is  a  'drashle.' 
The  flail  have  a-got  a  capel  too,  but  he's  o' 
raw  hide  from  a  bull's  neck.  Terr'ble  nasty- 
tempered  rascal  this  one  were.  That  don't 
have  to  turn  round.  An'  the  middle-bind  is 
o'  hide  too,  pinned  together  wi'  a  peg  o'  black- 
thorn. So  you  do  see,  he  do  show  the  use  o' 
things  accorden  to  their  natchur — that's  what 
I  do  say." 

Thump !  Thump !  Thump  !  Thump  ! 

The  flail  went  swinging  round  on  its  ram's- 
horn  swivel.     Well  pleased  to  have  somebody 


6o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

to  look  on,  Old  Abe  was  performing  in  his  best 
style.  He  was  perfect  at  the  work.  In  spite 
of  its  long  disuse,  his  flail  fell  always  on  the 
ears  and  never  on  the  reed. 

"There,"  cried  he  at  the  next  pause, 
"  that's  no  job  for  a  fool !  A  man  can  break 
his  own  head  to  this  game  so  easy  as  cracken 
a  nut ;  ay,  though  his  skull  mid  be  so  thick 
as  a  stone  wall.  Catch  un  hold,  an'  have  a 
try,  master.     You  be  welcome  as  the  light." 

But  no  confidence  is  to  be  placed  on  the 
thickness  of  my  skull. 

"  There,  it  got  to  be  just  a-combed  to 
take  out  the  broken  straw-motes,  an'  this  'ull 
be  a  capical  bit  o'  reed  for  the  thatcher."  Old 
Abe  stopped  and  tossed  back  his  head.  "  An' 
now,  if  you  be  a-minded,  you  can  step  up  the 
lane  where  I  do  live,  an'  watch  the  engine  to 
work  in  the  great  plough-ground."  In  his 
heart  he  has  not  yet  forgiven  the  machinery. 
Nor  does  it,  to  his  mind,  show  any  understand- 
ing of  the  "  real  natchur  o'  things." 

In  the  great  plough-ground  the  threshing- 
machine  was  humming  away.  The  crops  need 
not  be  hauled  home  to  the  barn  now,  but  are 


THRESHING— OLD  AND  NEW  61 

stacked  where  they  grew,  for  the  steam- 
thresher  can  go  into  the  field  and  draw  up  by 
the  side  of  the  stacks.  There  are  no  stone 
mow-staddles,  but  only  a  foundation  of  faggots 
of  thorns  and  rubbish  to  raise  the  lowest 
sheaves  from  the  damp  ground.  The  rats 
that  congregate  in  this  rough  staddling  and 
work  up  into  the  mow  are  not  left  long  in 
peace.  The  machine  soon  comes.  A  stack 
may  be  begun  and  finished  in  a  day,  and  few 
of  the  rats  escape. 

Nor  is  the  modern  threshing  without  its 
interest  and  charm  in  the  English  landscape. 
Usually  under  a  bright  sky,  its  surroundings 
are  in  wide  contrast  with  the  half  gloom  of  the 
barn.  A  white  cloud  of  steam  rises  from  the 
dark  engine  beside  the  golden  stack.  The 
belt  on  the  big  wheel  runs  swiftly  around,  and 
the  wooden  "  thresher  "  hums  and  sings.  The 
place  is  alive  with  men  all  full  of  hurry  and 
activity,  as  if  they  have  caught  the  spirit  of 
the  never-pausing  machinery.  They  on  the 
rick  pitch  forward  the  sheaves,  another  feeds 
the  machine,  and  the  sheaves  quickly  disappear 
into  the  maw  of  the  "  thresher,"  whose  appetite 


62  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

is  never  satisfied.  Others  below  carry  off  to 
the  new  stack  or  the  waggon  the  straw  that 
comes  to  them  ready  bound  in  enormous 
sheaves.  Some  rake  away  and  remove  the 
ever-growing  heap  of  chaff.  And  all  the  while 
some  half  a  dozen  rills  of  grain  keep  pouring 
from  projecting  shoots  into  the  sacks  that  have 
been  placed  to  receive  them.  There  is  nothing 
more  to  do  but  to  tie  up  the  mouths  of  the  bags. 


CHAPTER   VII 

OUR  OLD  SEXTON 

"  Our  old  sexton  died  o'  Friday  last,  and  is 
going  to  be  buried  to-day.  Ah,  dear  !  Yes, 
sure  !  To  think  he  should  put  so  many  to  bed 
wi'  a  shovel,  to  come  to  it  in  the  end  his  own 
self.  I  should  wish  to  just  draw  down  the 
blinds,  if  you  don't  mind,  as  a  last  token  o' 
respect,  an'  Heppell,  being  undertaker,  walk- 
ing in  front  o'  the  coffin  all  so  well.  Ah  ! 
Poor,  good  old  man !  Eighty-two  on  the 
plate.  So  we  all  must.  But  hardly  up  to  his 
work  for  years.  Ah  yes  !  There's  the  bell. 
Never  again — never  again  !  " 

Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell,  having  carried  out  her 
pious  wish,  remained  with  her  nose  jammed 
between  the  edge  of  the  blind  and  the  window 
frame  until  the  funeral  was  over  and  the  little 

procession  of  mourners  walked  back  to  the 

63 


64  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

house.  Every  truly  rural  mind  loves  a  funeral. 
The  days  of  feasting  are  almost  over,  and  a 
burial  in  Sutton  to-day  differs  little  from  a 
burial  in  a  town — except  in  this,  that  there 
are  no  complete  strangers  in  the  village,  and 
death  means  the  calling  away  of  a  familiar 
figure.  The  solemn  tramp  of  the  bearers 
on  their  way  to  the  quiet  graveyard  is  more 
impressive  than  the  passing  of  a  hearse  and 
plumes  through  the  busy  street  on  its  way  to 
the  cemetery.  There  is  no  distraction  here. 
Neighbours  watch  the  falling  of  the  curtain 
on  another  drama  of  human  life ;  but  one 
which  they  have  witnessed,  in  which  they 
may  have  taken  part. 

I  knew  the  old  sexton  quite  well,  and  had 
talked  to  him  almost  daily  since  my  arrival 
in  Sutton.  Nothing  was  more  easy.  He 
was  always  there,  always  waiting,  always 
ready  to  talk. 

Jabez  Huckleby  was  the  name  of  "our  old 
sexton,"  and  of  any  before  him  only  a  dim 
tradition  lingers  in  the  village.  For  many 
years  he  was  a  familiar  figure  in  the  village 
street,  and  did  not  fail  to  attract  attention  by 


OUR  OLD  SEXTON  65 

the  strangeness  of  his  attire.  H  e  wore  a  black 
coat,  rusty  with  age — a  coat  with  an  ex- 
perience of  half  a  century  of  funerals.  He 
wore  trousers  of  the  same  piece,  mangy-look- 
ing where  the  nap  was  worn,  and  baggy  at  the 
knee,  in  a  village  given  up  to  breeches  and 
gaiters.  His  neckcloth  was  white,  with  a  little 
sprig  pattern,  and  tied  in  a  bow.  He  walked 
with  a  stick,  yet  was  nimble  at  eighty.  He 
had  a  round,  good-humoured,  shaven  face, 
and  shaved  it  twice  a  week — Sundays  and 
Wednesdays.  His  hair,  what  was  left  of  it, 
hung  in  grey  wisps  over  his  ears.  Everybody 
thought  him  a  picture  of  old-fashioned  re- 
spectability, and,  truly,  it  was  a  wonder  how 
well  he  kept  his  memory.  He  could  tell  you 
the  details  of  every  funeral  since  time  out  of 
mind,  and  the  comparative  merits  of  the 
funeral  repasts — wherein  some  were  wanting 
in  respect  for  the  deceased,  and  others  out  o£* 
vain  show  did  more  than  the  occasion  required. 
But  Jabez  Huckleby's  chief  claim  to  fame  was 
that  he  had  seen  corpse-candles.  He  had 
many  opportunities  for  telling  this  story, 
because  in  his  declining  years  he  enjoyed 
5 


66  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

a  life  of  leisure.      His  granddaughter,   who 
married  young  John  Brook,  kept  the  church 
clean.     Young  John  Brook  having  an  eye  to 
a  future  vacancy,   was  always  ready    to  dig 
a   grave    for   the    old    man  whenever  death 
might  chance  to  call  for  such  a  thing.     So 
Jabez    remained   as    an    ancient    institution, 
cherished  and    protected  long   after   he  was 
obsolete.      He  only  tolled  the  bell,  arranged 
a  christening  party  around  the  font,  and  sat 
of  a  Sunday  during  service  in  the  official  seat 
beside  the  church  door.      But  he  was  full  of 
his  office,  and  started  for  the  graveyard  every 
morning  of  his  life.     Only  he  was  slow  to  get 
there.      He    could   give    nobody    the   go-by. 
Jabez  must  stop  to  have  a  word  with  both 
gentle  and  simple.      So  he  drew  up  more  often 
than  a  baker's  cart,  and  stood  and  yarned  and 
talked  until — 

"Hark!     What's  that?" 

The  sound  of  laughter  and  voices  from  the 
other  side  of  the  lich-gate  fell  upon  his  ear. 

"  Drat  they  bwoys.  There  they  be  to  play 
in  chichyard  again.  I'll  dust  their  jackets,  I'll 
warr'nt  I  will,  then,  if  I  do  but  once  lay  hands 


OUR  OLD  SEXTON  67 

'pon  'em.  But  I  tell  ee  what  'tis — bwoys 
nowadays  they  be  so  cunnen  an'  sly  as  foxes 
— zo  they  be.  'Tis  all  this  here  edication. 
Zo  much  larnen  do  but  fill  up  bwoys  wi'  sass. 
Now  you  bide  where  you  be  a  minute.      Let 

I "     Then,  with  a  nod  and  a  wink,  Jabez 

would  endeavour  to  stalk  the  boys  by  creeping 
under  cover  of  the  churchyard  wall  to  make 
a  sudden  dash  through  the  gate.  But  as  he 
got  there  the  voices  ceased.  He  stood  on  the 
step  and  looked.  All  was  solitude  among  the 
tombs  and  grey  old  leaning  stones.  No  child 
was  ever  caught  or  even  seen,  and  Jabez,  after 
an  interval,  would  come  slowly  back  to  resume 
his  gossip. 

"  You  can't  get  upzides  wi'  they  toads  o' 
bwoys.  You  can't  so  much  as  catch  a  glimpse 
o'  'em,  for  just  afore  you  do  get  there,  they 
be  gone."  He  never  learnt  that  it  was 
one  of  the  harmless  pranks  of  the  youth  of 
Sutton  to  disturb  him  with  unseemly  noise 
and  then  to  lie  down  out  of  sight  among  the 
graves. 

"  But  you  were  just  going  to  tell  me  about 
the  corpse-candles,  Mr.  Huckleby." 


68  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Jabez  had  a  solemn  way  of  shaking  his  head. 
He  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"Ay,  twice  in  my  life  I've  a-seed  a  corpse- 
can'le.  There's  no  liven  soul  in  parish  but 
myself  can  say  it.  There's  things  that  tidden 
a-gied  to  everybody  to  see.  'Tis  a  gift,  I  do 
reckon." 

"'Tis  a  gift  very  rarely  given,  Mr. 
Huckleby." 

"  Old  folk  did  hold  in  years  agone  that  none 
but  the  sperichule-minded  had  eyes  to  see  sich 
things.  How  that  mid  be,  tidden  for  I  to  say. 
Maybe  the  diggin'  o'  graves  do  gie  a  man 
deeper  thought  than  common.  I've  many 
a  time  pondered,  my  own  self,  atween  the 
strokes  o'  the  passen  bell.  Nobody  don't 
know  how  things  do  come  about.  To  be 
sure,  few  do  know  much  an'  none  all  in  theas 
world.  There's  a  many  theas  days  do  titter 
an'  giggle  when  they  do  hear  a  plain  truth, 
for  titteren  an'  gigglen  be  the  signs  o'  ignor- 
ance. They'd  down-arg  a  man  out  of  his  own 
senses  if  they  could.  But  I  do  know  what 
I  seed,  an'  followed,  an'  watched,  too,  for  more 
'an  a  mile  an'  half." 


OUR  OLD  SEXTON  69 

"It  was  on  the  road  from  Combe,  Mr. 
Huckleby,  if  I've  heard  aright." 

Then  Jabez  would  settle  himself  into  his 
narrative. 

"There's  none  can  tell  all  I  seed  but  I  my 
own  self.  Mind,  'twur  early  in  the  year,  just 
a  night  or  two  a'ter  Twelfth  Night,  an'  I  had 
walked  up  so  fur  as  Combe  to  collect  the  rate, 
and  we  sot  there  by  the  vire,  Farmer  Crad- 
dock  o'  Combe  an'  I,  over  a  cup  o'  hot  gin  an' 
cider,  some  time  a'ter  the  missus  and  the 
maidens  had  a-went  up  to  roost.  I  do  mind 
the  wold  clock  went  ten  then,  and  there  we 
was,  still  a-sot.  An'  Farmer  he  wur  most 
wonderful  merry  that  night,  a  tellen  up  all  the 
wold  tales  an'  rozims  he  could  call  to  mind. 
He  wur  a  man  not  dreescore,  wi'  a  fresh 
colour  an'  a  cheerful  countenance,  an'  he'd 
drow  back  the  head  o'  un  an'  sing  like  a  drush. 
Mind,  he  had  no  troubles,  an'  he  wur  well  to 
do.  You  could  lef  his  rate  till  near  'pon  the 
last  day  an'  be  sure  you  could  bring  away  the 
money  for  the  asken.  He  wur  so  hearty  an' 
fond  o'  company  he  wouldn't  pay  that  night 
till  I  had  a-got  up  an'  swore  if  he  didden  I'd 


7o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

goo  'ithout.  Then  he  pulled  a  bag  out  o'  his 
burchees  pocket  an'  paid  there-right.  An'  he 
showed  me  out  wi'  a  lantern,  drough  garden 
an'  into  homefield,  to  put  me  'pon  the  short 
path  into  high  road.  There  had  a-bin  a  wick 
a  vrostes,  I  do  mind,  an'  now  a  thawin',  wi' 
the  sky  a-covered  wi'  cloud  an'  not  a  star  to 
show.  Well,  I  lost  my  way  athirt  the  grounds, 
an'  by  time  I  got  into  road  my  eyes  had  a-got 
used  to  the  darkness  like,  an'  I  could  make 
out  the  line  o'  the  hedgerow  'pon  each  hand. 
An'  there  afore  me  I  saw  a  light.  Mind, 
'twerden  a  very  big  light,  an'  'eet  I  shouldn' 
call  un  so  terr'ble  small.  An'  he  werden  a 
very  bright  light ;  an'  'eet,  for  all  that,  he  did 
sim  most  wonderful  clear,  an'  all  the  edges  o' 
un  did  kind  o'  melt  away  like,  as  a  can'le-light 
do  in  a  vog.  But  he  wur  a  sort  of  a  reddish 
light,  too,  as  one  mid  say,  about  the  colour  o' 
a  gleam  o'  virelight  a  vallen  'pon  the  wall  of 
a  house  new  whited-out.  An'  he  moved  on 
steady  an'  slow,  about  so  fast  as  a  miller's 
waggon  up  the  hill,  an'  a-top  o'  the  knap  he 
stopped,  for  all  the  world  as  a  carter  mid  let 
his  hosses  catch  their  breath.     An'  I  stood  an' 


OUR  OLD  SEXTON  71 

waited,  for  I  had  an  inklin'  in  my  mind  like 
what  it  mus'  be,  though  I  had  no  thought  for 
who.  Then  he  went  on  again  to  the  four 
cross-roads  an'  stopped  again.  An'  then  down 
drough  parish  to  church-gate  an'  stopped 
again.  An'  up  the  path,  an'  into  porch,  so 
orderly  as  could  be,  an'  drough  the  wold 
church  door,  but  never  stopped  for  oak  or 
nails  ;  an'  I  did  sim,  though  mid  be  fancy, 
that  there  corned  a  dim  light  drough  all  the 
winders.  There!  I  stood  amazed.  I'd  a- 
heard  tell  o'  a  corpse-can'le,  but  never  dreamed 
to  see  one.  An'  while  I  did  watch,  lo !  an' 
behold,  the  light  appeared  in  the  porch  again, 
an'  passed  along  by  the  tower  to  the  west  end, 
where  the  Craddocks  do  lie,  an'  there  he  sunk 
into  the  ground  an'  were  gone.  Mind  I  didn' 
dare  to  tell  folk  what  I  had  a-seed.  This  all 
fell  out  of  a  Saturday  night.  But  when,  o' 
Tuesday  marnen,  afore  light,  one  corned  to 
house  to  bid  the  bell  for  Farmer  Craddock  o' 
Combe,  I  could  scarce  stand  up  to  pull  the 
bell-rope.  The  poor  man  wur  a-buried  'pon 
the  Saturday,  an'  wherever  the  corpse-can'le 
had  a-stopped  the  funeral  stopped,  an'  I  digged 


72  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

the  grave  where  the  corpse-can'le,  so  to  speak, 
went  to  orround.  Hark!  What's  that? 
There's  they  bwoys  again " 

It  was  all  over.  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell 
turned  away  from  the  window,  brushed  a  tear 
from  her  eye  with  the  back  of  her  hand  and 
sniffed. 

"Ah!  An'  how  the  children  used  for  to 
tease  the  old  man  too.  There'll  be  no  more 
o'  that.  'Tis  poor  Mr.  Huckleby  his  own  self 
now  who  is  lying  down  amongst  the  graves." 

She  pulled  up  the  blinds. 

"Well!  An'  who'll  be  sexton  now,  I 
wonder,  sure.  Not  young  John  Brook,  if 
Heppell  could  have  his  way  in  the  matter. 
But  that'll  be  a  matter  for  the  Easter  Vestry." 

A  toss  of  the  head  and  something  signifi- 
cant in  the  toneof  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  seemed 
to  indicate  that  one  might  look  for  excitement 
in  the  Sutton  Easter  Vestry. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

HOW  THE  SUN  DANCED  ON  EASTER  MORN 

He  is  considered  by  his  neighbours  to  be  a 
very  slow  youth,  young  John  Brook,  and  they 
try  to  take  advantage  of  him  whenever  they 
can.  He  is  slow  in  his  work,  though  he  never 
stops  working;  and  slow  in  his  thought,  though 
he  never  stops  thinking.  You  can  watch 
young  John  turn  a  subject  over  in  his  brain 
for  weeks,  just  as  you  turn  hay  of  a  wet 
season.  If  you  ask  young  John  a  riddle  at 
Christmas  he  will  come  with  an  answer,  often 
unexpectedly  brilliant  but  invariably  unsound, 
by  about  Lady  Day.  Yet  he  has  a  solid  mind. 
I  have  heard  young  John's  wife  declare  a 
hundred  times:  "If  you  do  but  once  get  a 
thing  into  John's  nut  he  do  never  forget  it — 
no,  not  in  a  twelvemonth."  That  is  the  very 
time  that  has  elapsed  since  young  John  went 

73 


74  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

up  to  Wynberry  Beacon  to  see  the  sun  dance 
of  an  Easter  morning. 

The  matter  began  with  an  eclogue,  as  so 
many  things  do  in  the  country. 

Young  John  and  the  carter  were  ploughing 
after  turnips  to  put  in  spring  wheat,  and  the 
two  ploughs  stopped  at  the  headland  under 
shelter  of  the  hedge  for  the  horses  to  have 
their  nose-bags  and  the  men  their  "bit  o' 
nammit."  So  they  sat  down  together  with 
a  flagon  of  cider,  a  hunk  of  bread  and  cheese, 
a  bit  of  cold  bacon,  and  an  onion  apiece. 

The  shepherd  strolled  across  from  the  fold 
where  the  lambs  were  bleating,  and  talked 
from  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  where  an  old 
hurdle  filled  the  gap  made  by  the  hounds. 
The  young  chap  hauling  out  the  cake  in  the 
donkey-cart  stopped  also  and  came  across. 
The  under-keeperchanced  to  come  along  with 
a  young  retriever  that  growled  at  the  shep- 
herd's dog.  So  there  was  quite  a  little  party. 
They  looked  down  the  straight  shining  furrows 
where  the  wagtails  were  running  and  the  rooks 
stalking  along,  and  agreed  that  the  ground 
worked  well — main  well — never  knew  ground 


HOW  THE  SUN  DANCED  ON  EASTER  MORN  75 

work  better — and  never  shall  in  this  world. 
But  this  was  but  the  overture,  and  they  got 
talking. 

Carter  :  Ay,  and  please  God  to  send  a  fine 
mild  spring,  and  theas  ground  'ull  look  so  level 
and  so  green  as  a  field  o'  grass,  come  Easter. 

Shepherd  :  He  will  so,  though  Easter  is  not 
so  wonderful  late,  to  year — or  so  they  do  tell 
me. 

Young  John  :  I  never  can't  think  (such  was 
John's  modest  way  of  speaking)  how  Easter 
can  fall  one  year  early  and  another  year  late. 
'Tis  a  time  when  much  happened,  we  do  know, 
so  there  must  be  a  fixed  day  o'  the  month  for 
it,  to  my  mind. 

Under-Keeper :  'Tis  put  to  match  pan- 
cake day,  by  all  accounts. 

Carter  :  Oh  no,  no.  'Tis  pancake  day  is 
arranged  to  go  afore  to  signify  Easter. 

Young  John  :  Then,  maybe,  they  don't 
know  the  date  for  certain  sure,  and  so  they  do 
hop  about  a  bit  so  as  to  pitch  right  now  and 
again. 

The  Young  Chap  :  An'  that's  better  'an 
always  wrong. 


76  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Shepherd  :  'Tis. 

Carter  :  Though,  if  what  my  mother  did  use 
to  tell  up  is  true,  that  can't  well  be. 

Young  John  :  What's  that,  then  ? 

Carter :  She  did  declare  that  the  sun  do 
dance  of  a  Easter  morning,  for  when  she  were 
a  little  maid  she  and  her  mother  climbed  up 
'pon  Wynberry  afore  light  to  watch  un. 

Shepherd  :  I've  heard  the  same  thing  my 
own  self — though  not  o'  late  years. 

Young  John  :  But  do  ee  believe  it,  both 
o'  ee  ? 

Carter  :  Well,  all  I  can  tell  is,  my  mother 
were  no  liar,  though  I  do  say  it  my  own  self. 

Young  John  :  But  did  ee  ever  go  to  look  ? 

Carter  :  Not  my  own  self.  The  sun  do 
rise  at  such  a  ill-convenient  time,  I  do  call. 
For  when  Easter  is  early  you  could  never  get 
back  to  your  work.  An'  when  'tis  late  a 
man  must  a'most  go  up  overnight  to  be  in 
time  for  the  sunrise. 

Young  John  :  But  do  you  believe  it, 
Carter  ? 

Carter:  I've  a-heard  it  said  hundreds  o' 
times — as  a  proof  o'  the  Resurrection. 


HOW  THE  SUN  DANCED  ON  EASTER  MORN  77 

Shepherd  :  Now,  there's  a  job  for  young 
John — to  go  up  to  year  and  see. 

Young  John  :  Anyway,  I  should  like  to 
know. 

Carter  :  But  you  must  go  to  the  beacon- 
top,  mind.  Tis  only  at  the  moment  when 
he  do  show  hisself  over  the  edge  o'  the  earth 
that  the  sun  do  dance — not  when  he've 
a-climbed  high  enough  to  peep  over  three 
mile  o'  hill. 

Young  John  :   I  should  like  to  know. 

This  laudable  desire  for  knowledge  in- 
creased to  a  passion  with  young  John. 
Everybody  in  the  parish  fed  the  flame. 
Although  not  latterly  much  spoken  of  in 
Sutton,  it  appeared  that  the  fact  had  always 
been  unquestionably  established.  One  and 
all  said  so ;  but  what  weighed  most  with 
John's  mind  was  that  they  told  his  wife  the 
same  tale  when  John  was  not  present.  They 
said  they  couldn't  have  thought,  in  these  days, 
that  any  man  living  could  be  so  ignorant.  In 
the  end  John  said  he  didn't  half  believe  it, 
not  even  now  ;  but  be  dashed  if  he  wouldn't 
go  up  and  see.     The  parish  greatly  approved 


78  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

of  John's  spirit.  More  than  one  pointed 
out  the  utility  of  the  investigation — because, 
although  beyond  a  doubt  the  sun  did  dance, 
no  soul  living  in  that  neighbourhood  could 
exactly  specify  the  step. 

Nobody  saw  John  go  up  the  beacon, 
because  he  went  in  the  night.  But  John's 
wife  told  the  hour  of  his  departure  ;  and  as 
there  are  two  miles  of  open  track  up  the  hill- 
side, there  was  quite  a  party  to  meet  him 
when  he  came  home. 

"Well,  John,  and  did  you  see  the  sun 
dance  ? " 

"  I  did,"  replied  John  with  decision. 

"  What  did  he  dance  like,  then  ?  " 

"  He  danced  proper." 

"  But  how  do  he  carry  out  thik  sort  o'  job, 
then,  John  ?" 

"Shepherd,"  replied  John,  "he  do  dance 
for  all  the  world  like  one  o'  your  young  lambs 
when  he  do  run  in  hopes  of  a  daisy  and  find 
out  'tis  a  snowflake." 

"  But  what  manner  o'  way  do  er  dance, 
then,  John  ?  Do  the  sun  bob  up  and  down — 
or  more  across  and  athirt  like  ?  " 


HOW  THE  SUN  DANCED  ON  EASTER  MORN  79 

"  I  tell  ee  what  'tis,  Carter,  he  do  dance — 
if  I  may  so  express  myself — like  the  old  mare 
Chestnut  when  you  do  turn  her  out  to 
grass." 

"  The  old  sun  do  begin  to  show  a  bit  stiff 
in  the  lag,  then,"  said  the  keeper. 

"  No,"  said  John.  "  He's  sort  o'  spry  in 
his  own  way,  too.  Maybe  he  do  gambol  more 
like  a  stoat  when  he  do  aim  to  catch  the  eye 
of  a  young  rabbit." 

Descriptions  such  as  these  could  not  fail  to 
be  convincing  ;  and  when  the  serious  aspect 
of  John  was  taken  into  consideration,  there 
were  some  who  very  soon  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  John  must  have  seen  something. 

When,  however,  a  fortnight  before  the  time, 
John  arranged  to  borrow  the  donkey  and  cart 
overnight,  so  as  to  haul  his  missus  up  to  the 
Beacon  on  Easter  morning,  not  a  single  soul 
was  left  in  doubt. 

"'Pon  my  life  !  "  said  Shepherd.  "  If  the 
sun  do  dance,  'tis  a'most  the  duty  of  every 
Christian  man  to  go  up  once  in  his  life  to  learn 
the  truth  and  gie  a  little  encouragement." 

"  It  is,"  agreed  Carter. 


So  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

They  all  went  up. 

Alas !  just  at  daybreak  there  rose  a 
monstrous  cloud  in  the  east  and  hid  the  sun's 
face.  1 1  was  a  disappointment  to  all — because, 
of  course,  when  the  eye  can  see  nothing  there 
is  nothing  that  the  mind  can  go  by. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose,  please  God,  there'll  be 
another  Easter  next  year,"  reflected  Shepherd. 

"  If  we  be  spared,"  said  the  carter  solemnly. 

So  they  all  trudged  down  again  except 
young  John. 

He  said  he  had  thought  this  would  give  a 
wonderful  o-ood  chance  to  drive  on  his  missus 
to  see  her  mother,  Easter-time  and  all,  and 
they  "full  three  mile  on  the  way." 

That  was  what  he  really  and  truly  had  in 
his  mind  like,  when  he  made  so  bold  as  to 
ask  for  the  little  donkey  and  cart  for  the 
day. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  EASTER  VESTRY 

Of  all  the  inhabitants  of  Sutton  there  are  but 
two  who  do  not,  either  by  birth,  marriage,  or 
early  association,  belong  to  the  place.  They 
are  Captain  Kennedy  Cann  and  his  daughter 
Miss  Cann,  whom  we  have  already  seen  in 
the  village  street.  For  years  they  have 
resided  at  Knap  House,  a  long,  low  dwelling 
in  which  the  rooms  open  one  into  the  other 
in  a  very  ancient,  primitive  fashion.  They 
have  so  identified  themselves  with  the  parish 
that  it  is  now  impossible  to  imagine  Sutton 
without  them. 

Of  the  adventures  of  Captain  Kennedy 
Cann  previous  to  his  settling  down  in  Sutton 
nothing  can  be  stated  in  exact  detail.  He  is 
said  to  be  a  gentleman  of  family  who  ran 
away  to  sea.     He  is  known  to  have  travelled 


S2  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

all  over  the  world.  He  is  believed  to  have 
been  a  blockade-runner.  It  is  reported  that 
he  fought  a  ship  in  a  naval  engagement  in 
the  American  War.  But  only  this  is  certain. 
Having  retired  to  Sutton,  with  money,  he 
devotes  himself  to  the  most  innocent  of  re- 
creations— ornamental  gardening  and  poetry. 
For  Captain  Kennedy  Cann  is  a  poet.  A 
local  poet,  it  must  be  admitted — but,  a  poet. 

No  person  of  imagination  can  pass  Knap 
House  without  first  being  transfixed  with 
admiration.  It  is  situated  about  a  furlong 
beyond  the  village,  and  the  yew  hedges  of 
the  garden  and  its  cypress  trees  are  a  wonder 
to  behold.  In  former  days  the  hedges  were 
mere  yew  hedges,  and  the  trees  peacocks, 
sugar-cones,  and  such  commonplace  subjects. 
But  all  that  is  altered.  To-day  one  yew 
hedge  is  a  Dreadnought  and  another  a  torpedo 
catcher.  They  have  funnels  of  yew,  but  are 
properly  fitted  with  masts  and  rigged.  Only 
between  certain  hours,  on  certain  days,  accord- 
ing to  the  regulations,  will  Captain  Kennedy 
Cann  allow  a  line  to  be  run  up  to  accom- 
modate the  lighter  articles  of  the  wash.     The 


THE  EASTER  VESTRY  83 

cypresses  are  turrets,  and  such  his  ingenuity 
in  clipping  that  the  nozzles  of  Long  Toms 
protrude  six  feet  or  more  and  command  the 
garden  path. 

But  Captain  Kennedy  Cann  is  for  ever 
clipping.  You  may  see  him  at  any  hour,  a 
short,  stout  figure,  in  a  blue  serge  suit  with 
the  firm,  sunburnt  shaven  face  of  a  sailor, 
enframed,  as  it  were,  with  the  white  wavy 
locks  of  the  poet,  and  crowned  with  a  glisten- 
ing black  straw  hat,  which  appears  to  have 
been  waterproofed  with  some  species  of 
japan — and  whilst  Captain  Kennedy  Cann 
is  clipping,  he  composes.  For  recreation  he 
cruises  around  the  country  on  a  bicycle. 
Should  you  meet  him  on  foot  he  is  on  an 
expedition  and  means  business. 

The  Captain  and  Miss  Cann  dwell  in  per- 
fect amity,  although  they  disagree  in  every 
particular.  Miss  Cann,  tall  and  slender,  is 
at  all  seasons  in  plain  and  serviceable  attire, 
and  may  sometimes  be  seen  in  a  pork-pie 
hat  with  a  skewer  through  it.  Captain  Cann 
is  a  disciplinarian.  Miss  Cann  is  humani- 
tarian.       The    Captain    is     by    no    means 


84  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LTFE 

vegetarian.  Miss  Cann  is  fruitarian.  Miss 
Cann  is  also  opposed  to  the  use  of  alcohol  in 
all  its  forms ;  whereas,  years  of  experience  in 
climates  various  have  convinced  the  Captain 
that  the  constitution  of  man  not  only  demands 
but  requires  "a  little  stimulant." 

It  was  Easter  Monday,  near  upon  eleven 
in  the  morning.  The  vestry  bell  was  tolling. 
Parishioners  from  all  directions  were  bustling 
towards  the  church,  and  a  group  gathered  by 
the  lich-gate  was  already  engaged  in  animated 
discussion.  Captain  Cann  strode  down  the 
causeway.  The  old  rector  passed  into  the 
churchyard  by  the  other  gate.  The  parish 
disappeared  into  the  porch.     The  bell  ceased. 

The  election  of  a  successor  to  poor  old 
Sexton  Huckleby  was  a  question  which  stirred 
Sutton  to  its  depths.  A  sexton,  as  every- 
body knows,  is  no  common  man,  and  once 
made  he  is  made  for  life.  As  Heppell  was 
credibly  reported  to  have  said  more  than  once, 
an'  more  than  twice,  "That  so,  it  do  behove 
any  parish  to  take  thought  to  what  they  do 
do."  Sutton  had  taken  so  much  thought, 
that  the  vestry  under  the  tower,  with  the  sur- 


THE  EASTER  VESTRY  85 

plices  hanging  against  the  wall  above  the  old 
chest  with  three  locks,  was  already  filled  to 
overflowing  when  the  old  rector  took  the 
chair  behind  the  table  upon  which  the  newly 
wed  of  Sutton  sign  the  register. 

The  minutes  were  read  and  passed.  The 
distribution  of  the  charities  drew  forth  no 
comment.  Everybody  knew  that  a  crisis  was 
approaching  and  Sutton  held  its  breath. 

The  old  rector  adjusted  his  spectacles. 

"  To  elect  a  sexton  in  the  place  of  Jabez 
Huckleby,  deceased."  A  genial  old  antiquar- 
ian with  a  wrinkled  face  the  colour  of  parch- 
ment, and  a  great  lover  of  peace,  he  smiled 
complacently  on  the  Vestry  with  a  benign 
expression  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Let  them 
fight  it  out." 

Baker  Heath  rose  at  once. 

"  It  is  not  for  me,"  said  Baker  Heath,  "to 
dwell  upon  the  great  age  attained  by  Jabez 
Huckleby  afore  he  died.  Yet  for  all  that  he 
passed  away  greatly  respected  in  the  end. 
Jabez  Huckleby  to  my  mind  was  so  good  a 
sexton  as  ever  laid  hand  on  a  bell-rope,  and 
his  grand-daughter  Anna  Maria,  the  stay  of 


86  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

his  declining  years,  the  same ;  so,  therefore,  I 
do  beg  to  propose  that  young  John  Brook 
be  appointed  sexton  o'  this  parish  church  o' 
Sutton  at  a  annual  salary  o'  ten  pound  a  year." 

Struck  by  the  cogency  of  these  remarks 
the  supporters  of  John  Brook  cried  "Hear, 
hear ! " 

Heppell,  casting  his  eye  around  and  esti- 
mating the  numbers,  smiled. 

"  I  second  that." 

Nervous  at  having  to  make  a  public  speech, 
Miller  Toop  jerked  out  his  notes  like  a  robin 
on  a  post,  and,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
sat  down. 

Then  Heppell  rose.  Heppell  has  a  con- 
vincing way  with  him,  and  shakes  his  head 
from  side  to  side  as  he  speaks  with  an  air  of 
setting  the  matter  forth  in  plain  honesty. 

"  I  hope  the  parish  o'  Sutton  do  well  con- 
sider what  they  be  about.  Because  I  can  tell 
'em  so  straight  as  a  plumb-line.  There  is  a 
post  to  fill  an'  a  man  required  to  fill  thik  post. 
Now  take  it  the  like  o'  this.  Say  thik  post  is  a 
post,  an'  thik  man  a  brass-headed  nail.  If 
this  parish  do  het  thik  brass-headed  nail  into 


THE  EASTER  VESTRY  87 

thik  parish  post,  they  do  not  only  drave  un 
in  but  they  do  clint  un  there,  mind  that,  now. 
You  may  hit  the  head  o'  un  off,  but  you  don't 
get  un  out,  an'  there  he'll  bide  so  long  as 
God  Almighty  do  allow  un  to.  Now  that's  a 
very  serious  matter  in  the  instance  of  a  young 
feller  like  young  John  Brook.  Because  he 
wed  wi'  Anna  Maria  he  have  a-digged  graves 
for  the  old  man,  we  do  know.  That  idden  to 
say  he've  a-got  a  vested  interest  in  thik  post, 
or  that  you  do  wish  un  to  shine  up  the  church 
plate.  I  myself  be  for  a  change  o'  blood  in 
all  questions,  so  to  speak.  An'  I  can  tell  the 
parish  this,  young  John  Brook  is  a  healthy 
man — I  don't  want  to  say  nothen  agen  young 
John  Brook  ;  but  if  the  parish  do  'lect  he, 
there's  very  few  staid  men  in  Sutton  now 
liven  can  hope  wi'  sense  ever  to  see  any  other 
parish  clerk.  So  there !  An'  I  do  vote  we 
do  'journ ! " 

"Ridiculous!  Ridiculous!"  The  voice  of 
Captain  Cann  is  like  a  speaking-trumpet. 
"  No  doubt  the  fellow  wishes  to  dig  the  graves 
himself." 

At  once  there  was  an  uproar  in  the  Vestry. 


88  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

The  rector  might  raise  his  hand  and  call 
"  Order,"  but  nobody  heard  or  heeded.  Some 
cried,  "  Vote  for  Brook,"  others,  "  Let's  put  in 
Heppell."  Baker  Heath,  beginning  to  sus- 
pect a  minority  for  the  Brookites,  could  not 
hesitate  as  between  Heppell,  a  regular  cus- 
tomer, and  Captain  Cann,  who,to  the  enormity 
of  baking  at  home,  added  indignity  by  taking 
up  occasional  loaves  from  theWynberry  baker. 
In  a  momentary  calm  Baker  Heath  stammered 
that  if  there  were  any  opposition  he  would 
withdraw  his  resolution. 

An  adjournment  might  have  followed,  but 
the  interval  had  given  young  John  Brook  time 
to  grasp  the  full  significance  of  Heppell's  par- 
able. From  a  modest  corner  he  pushed  for- 
ward. He  fronted  Heppell  and  clenched  his 
fist.  "  I  may  be  yaller-headed,  that  I  do  own," 
cried  he,  "  but  you've  a-called  I  a  brass-headed 

nail.      I "     Young  John  Brook  had  to  be 

forcibly  restrained  by  some  of  his  supporters. 

All  the  while  the  rector  pleaded,  "  Order, 
order !  " 

Without  ceasing,  the  Captain's  trumpet, 
tones  continued  to  repeat :    "  He's  manceuv- 


OLD  SEXTON  HUCKLEBY 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


V4.|V'«*  Hg& 


THE  EASTER  VESTRY  89 

ring  for  the  post.  Heppell  is  manoeuvring  for 
the  post  for  himself." 

"  I  am  not,"  cried  Heppell. 

"  You  were,  but  you're  unmasked,"  fired 
back  Captain  Cann. 

"  I  wouldn't  take  it." 

"You  would." 

"  No  more  than  you." 

The  Captain  is  a  man  of  resource.  He 
seized  the  situation  at  a  glance. 

"  I  would  take  it — if  I  were  elected." 

Mr.  William  Purchase  had  so  far  said 
nothing. 

"  That  is  a  good  way,"  laughed  he,  "  to  get 
over  the  difficulties  of  a  life  appointment. 
Captain  Cann  can  do  the  work  by  deputy.  I 
propose  Captain  Kennedy  Cann." 

"  I  second  that,"  cried  Miller  Toop. 

Heppell  was  discomfited  yet  stubborn. 

"  It  have  always  been  the  custom  in  Sutton 
for  the  sexton  to  sit  behind  the  door.  Gentle 
or  simple,  I  vote  for  no  sexton  unless  he  do 
undertake  to  sit  behind  the  door.  Will 
Captain  Cann  undertake  to  sit  behind  the 
door  ? " 


9o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Captain  Cann  hesitated.  He  was  a  quarter- 
deck officer  and  used  to  sit  in  the  chancel. 

"  I  will  sit  behind  the  door,"  roared  Captain 
Cann  in  a  voice  like  a  fo^-horn. 

Then  Heppell  hauled  down  his  flag. 

"  Of  course,  if  the  Cap'n  do  consent  to  sit 
behind  the  door " 

The  voice  of  the  old  rector  interrupted  the 
acquiescence  of  Heppell,  "  It  is  proposed  by 

Mr.    William    Purchase    and    seconded " 

It  sank  into  an  almost  inaudible  murmur  and 
rose  again. 

"  For — Against  ?     Nemine  contradicente" 

"  I  engage  young  John  Brook  as  my  deputy 
— at  sixteen  and  eight  a  month,"  cried  Captain 
Cann.  "  But  let  him  look  to  his  swabbing 
— that's  all.  The  church  has  never  been 
swabbed.      Let  him  look  to  his  swabbing." 

The  business  of  his  new  appointment 
brought  Captain  Kennedy  Cann  frequently 
into  the  village  on  foot  during  the  next  few 
days.  One  morning  he  button-holed  me  on 
the  causeway  and  promptly  drew  a  manuscript 
from  his  breast  pocket. 

"  Just  a  bit  of  a  screed,"  whispered  he,  and 


THE  EASTER  VESTRY  91 

the  blushing  diffidence  of  a  true  poet  for  a 
moment  spiritualised  the  red-brick  complexion 
of  the   buccaneer.     "  A   little  singsong.     A 
trifle.     A  mere  jingle." 
Then  he  read — 

"  Kennedy  Cann  sailed  into  the  west " — 

the  vestry,  you  understand — 

"  Kennedy  Cann  sailed  into  the  west 
Under  the  tower  of  St.  Margaree. 
'  I'll  be  a  sexton  as  bold  as  the  best, 
And  young  John  Brook  shall  be  deputee, 
To  beat  the  hassock  and  dust  the  pew, 
To  toll  the  curfew  and  light  the  dip, 
To  swab  the  aisle  and  the  chancel  too, 
For  I'll  have  that  church  as  clean  as  a  ship.'" 

There  were  many  verses,  for  the  Captain's 
muse  is  voluminous.  On  the  following  week 
the  poem  appeared  in  the  columns  of  the 
Oldbury  Gazette  and  was  greatly  admired. 


CHAPTER   X 

FIRST  AID 

"  Urn,  urn,  Urchett !  Do'ee,  then  !  Up  to 
Manor  House,  an'  tell  Selina  Jane  Edwards 
that  the  little  Rosie  Ann  have  a-creeped  out 
o'  bed  an'  drinkt  th'  embarkation  ! " 

It  was  drawing  towards  dusk,  in  the  sweet- 
est and  calmest  of  spring  evenings,  when  the 
Widow  Teape,  walking  slowly  down  to  her 
garden-hatch  to  take  a  look  up  and  down 
street  and  call  in  her  Richard,  was  disturbed 
by  "  screams  and  scritches "  of  the  most 
"gashly"  description,  and  "worse  than  any 
pig-killing."  They  issued  from  a  little  top 
window  of  Selina  Jane  Edwards'  house.  The 
Widow  Teape  hastened  into  the  garden  to 
demand  the  cause.  Then  rushing  out  upon 
the  village  green,  where  her  Richard  was 
riding  astride  of  the  fallen  elm,  she  shrieked 


FIRST  AID  93 

the  above  injunctions,  to  the  alarm  and  con- 
sternation of  the  whole  parish.  For  the 
Widow  Teape  had  received  from  nature  a 
voice  of  such  penetrating  quality  that  it  went 
right  through  anybody,  verily  and  truly  it 
really  did.  It  helped  to  carry  poor  Jacob 
Teape  to  an  early  grave,  as  everybody  said, 
and  he  one  of  the  mildest,  softest-spoken  men, 
too,  that  ever  trod  shoe  leather.  But  Sutton 
is  such  a  quiet  little  place.  If  Keziah  Teape 
had  but  whispered,  every  soul  alive  must  have 
heard. 

"  Urn,  Urchett,  urn  !  For  little  Rosie  Ann 
have  a-drinkt  the  embarkation." 

Good  neighbours  popped  from  every  cot- 
tage door,  and  ran  to  every  garden  hatch, 
urging  Richard  to  sublimer  effort. 

"  Urn,  Urchett,  urn  !     Now  do'ee,  then  !  " 

Richard  was  a  podgy  boy,  with  a  big  head, 
short  legs,  and  boots  of  large  tonnage.  He 
ran  with  his  head  low,  like  a  ram  that  is 
butting,  and  his  elbows  stuck  out  on  a  level 
with  his  ears  like  the  arms  of  a  direction 
post.  There  might  have  been  something 
comic  about  Richard's   running  if  the  little 


94  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Rosie  Ann  had  not  "a-drinkt  the  embark- 
ation." 

Now  all  the  delights  of  spring  were  in  full 
swing,  and  nowhere  are  more  of  them  to  be 
found  than  at  Sutton  Manor  Farm.  In  the 
front  garden  lilac  was  in  flower,  and  laburnum 
on  the  way.  There  were  primroses  and 
violets,  tulips,  jonquils,  and  daffodils,  and  all 
sorts  of  budding  joys.  Sparrows  chirruped  to 
each  other  their  designs  on  every  shoot  and 
water-spout.  Starlings  whistled  and  chattered 
from  the  barn,  the  orchards,  and  the  stalls. 
Twittering  martins  darted  to  and  fro  or 
clung  to  the  wall  where  the  ruin  of  their  last 
year's  nest  still  hung  in  a  semicircle  under 
the  eaves.  And  head  and  chief  of  all  these 
several  delights,  from  the  paddock  behind 
the  house  came  the  rhythmic  thud  of  carpet- 
beating,  for  the  inmates  were  in  the  very 
revelry  of  spring  cleaning. 

That  was  why  Selina  Jane  Edwards  stayed 
on  an  hour  that  evening — to  oblige.  That 
was  why  the  little  Rosie  Ann,  to  be  kept  out 
of  mischief,  was  put  to  bed  before  her  time. 
That  was  why  this  inquisitive  child  of  Eve, 


FIRST  AID  95 

unwooed  by  sleep,  rose  from  her  couch  and 
swallowed  the  pernicious  draught. 

"  Urn,  Urchett,  urn,  or  the  poor  maid  'ull 
heave  up  the  very  heart  o'  her !  " 

So  Richard  came  panting  to  the  gate,  ran 
up  the  steps  and  paving  stones  between  the 
drooping-ash  and  the  mulberry  tree,  and 
arrived  at  the  Manor  House  front  door. 
Furniture  had  been  dragged  out  upon  the 
lawn  ;  mahogany,  horsehair-seated  chairs  of 
the  most  graceful  Chippendale  variety,  a 
carved  oak  chest,  a  table  and  a  bureau  with 
handles  of  brass,  all  of  quite  an  ancient 
respectability,  shone  and  glistened  to  find 
themselves  out  for  the  day.  And  amidst  them 
moved  a  tall,  willowy  maiden  wrapped  in  a 
long  blue  pinafore  and  wearing  garden  gloves. 
She  was  the  picture  of  health  and  well-being. 
Her  face  was  by  nature  smiling — her  cheeks 
rosy,  her  lips  red,  her  hair  black,  and  her  dark 
eyes  looked  on  the  approaching  Richard  with 
mirth  and  astonishment  from  beneath  a  broad- 
brimmed  garden-hat  of  straw. 

"  Ple-ple-please,  Miss  Letisher,  Selina 
Jane  Edwards's  Rosie  Ann  have  a-drinkt  the 


96  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

— the — Selina  Jane  Edwards's  rubben'-in 
stuff." 

Miss  Letty  Purchase  threw  down  her  duster, 
cast  off  her  chamois  leather  gloves,  and  ran 
into  the  house. 

"  Mrs.  Edwards  !     Quick,  Mrs.  Edwards  !  " 

Now  Selina  Jane  Edwards  is  a  wonderful 
woman  to  work.  Many  have  said  so,  but 
none  has  ever  questioned  that.  A  shilling  a 
day  and  her  keep,  or  eighteen  pence  and  run 
home  to  her  victuals,  will  ensure  the  most 
astonishing  results  at  anybody's  spring  clean- 
ing. With  nobody  to  fend  for  her  she  has 
been  forced  to  work,  and  is  lean  and  sharp- 
featured  with  it,  and  short  of  her  temper  too. 

The  little  Rosie  Ann  does  not  belong  to 
Selina  Jane  Edwards,  but  has  been  taken  in 
and  brought  up  at  five  shillings  a  week.  The 
little  mystery  which  surrounds  the  origin  of 
the  little  Rosie  Ann  naturally  makes  any 
iniquity  which  she  may  commit  of  more 
importance  than  the  offences  of  a  duly 
authenticated  child. 

Dishevelled,  begrimed,  perspiring  from  the 
carpet-beating,  a  decapitated  mop-stem  in  her 


FIRST  AID  97 

hand,  Selina  Jane  Edwards  came  bolting  out 
of  the  front  door  like  a  frightened  rabbit. 
Breathless  with  haste,  she  managed  in  spite 
of  all  to  speak  out  her  mind  as  she  ran — 

"You  can't  never  be  upzides  wi'  childern. 
No,  you  never  can't.  An',  do  what  you  will, 
you  never  wun't.  Now,  I  put  thik  little 
bottle  up  'pon  tap  o'  tap  shelf.  A  good-for- 
nothen  hussy  !  She  must  ha'  dragged  a  chair 
athirt — she  mus' — so  she  mus' " 

Before  she  had  reached  the  village  green 
she  was  overtaken  by  Miss  Letitia,  who,  with 
tennis  in  summer  and  hockey  in  winter,  can 
run  like  a  young  gazelle. 

Miss  Letitia — it  is  really  a  pity  that  the 
local  pronunciation  should  sound  so  much 
like  a  sneeze — carried  a  quart  bottle  of  salad 
oil  in  one  hand  and  a  small  book  in  the  other  ; 
and  so  they  reached  the  little  crowd  of  villagers 
by  this  time  gathered  around  the  cottage  door. 

The  crowd  fell  apart. 

"Miss  Litisher,"— "  Miss  Litisher,"  they 
greeted  her  one  after  another,  as  she  and 
Selina  Jane  Edwards  entered  the  kitchen 
together. 


98  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

The  Widow  Teape,  divining,  with  truly 
marvellous  insight,  that  Selina  Jane  Edwards, 
like  every  other  villager,  when  locking  up  her 
house,  having  first  peeped  up  and  down  street 
to  be  sure  that  nobody  was  looking,  would 
take  the  precaution  to  hide  the  key  in  the 
chink  at  the  top  of  the  lintel,  opened  the  door 
without  difficulty.  She  had  brought  Rosie 
Ann  downstairs  to  the  embers  of  a  wood 
fire,  and  alternately  warmed  her  toes  and  held 
her  head  over  a  basin.  All  the  while  she 
administered  comfort — 

"You've  a-drinkt  pizin !  Poor  lamb! 
'Tis  a-burnen  up  your  poor  inside,  so  'tis. 
You've  a-drinkt  pizin  !     Sure  you  have  !  " 

In  times  of  distress,  in  spite  of  her  shrill- 
ness, there  was  something  exceedingly  en- 
couraging and  motherly  about  the  Widow 
Teape. 

"You  naughty  maid,"  cried  Selina  Jane 
Edwards,  still  having  before  her  mind  the 
iniquity  of  the  act,  "how  dare  you  drink  out 
o'  mother's  bottle  !  There  !  if  I  didden  think 
you  wuz  like  to  die,  I'd  slap " 

The  presence  of  Miss  Letitia  caused  Selina 


FIRST  AID  99 

Jane  Edwards  to  pause.  ''I'd  whip  'ee  well, 
I  'ood." 

"  I  don't  want  to  die !  "  piped  the  child, 
and  between  the  paroxysms  screamed  at  the 
thought  of  it. 

Now  Miss  Letitia  Purchase,  fresh  from 
the  first-aid  class  inaugurated  by  Miss  Cann, 
and  presided  over  by  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell's 
"  local  tremens,"  the  young  Dr.  Willoughby, 
felt  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  took  charge  at 
once.  She  smelt  the  mixture.  She  sniffed 
at  the  cork.  The  bouquet  reminded  her 
faintly  of  hartshorn,  mingled  with  some  other 
and  vaguer  reminiscence,  but  taught  her 
nothing. 

"What  is  it?"  she  inquired  quickly. 

"  'Tis  a  oil  that  the  wold  Jacob  Tozer 
bought  of  a  travellen'-man  for  his  rheumatics 
last  summer  fair,"  explained  Selina  Jane 
Edwards  promptly.  "An'  wonderful  bad 
Jacob  wur.  But  he  thought  it  done  un  good, 
so  he  gi'ed  it  to  the  wold  Betsy  Mogridge 
when  she  had  a  'ruption  in  the  lag.  She 
said  it  brought  out  thik  'ruption  somethen 
most  wonderful.      So  she  gi'ed   it  to  I   vor 


ioo  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

the  quinzy,  an'  I  rubbed  a  drop  into  my 
droat,  an'  put  the  rest  back  'pon  shelf  vor 
another  'casion." 

The  origin  of  the  embrocation  was  sus- 
picious. 

"  Let  some  one  ride  at  once  for  Dr.  Wil- 
loughby  !  "  cried  Miss  Letitia  with  decision. 

Then  she  hesitated. 

There  being  no  stain  upon  the  child's  lips, 
Miss  Letitia,  having  consulted  her  book  to 
freshen  her  memory,  decided  in  favour  of 
the  oil.  She  called  for  a  spoon  and  began 
to  administer.  Gaining  courage,  she  made 
use  of  an  egg-cup.  Bolder  still,  she  bid 
Rosie  Ann  drink  from  a  small  gallipot.  But 
suddenly,  when  not  more  than  a  pint  had  been 
consumed,  Miss  Letitia  suffered  a  terrible 
doubt  that  paralysed  her  will. 

She  had  not  given  a  thought  to  phosphorus. 

This  was  really  most  reprehensible,  for 
phosphorus,  being  luminous  in  the  dark,  may 
so  easily  be  detected. 

"Have  they  sent  for  Dr.  Willoughby  ? " 
she  wailed. 

Miss  Letitia  seized  the  bottle,  and  ran  and 


FIRST  AID  101 

shut  herself  in  the  dark  in  a  coal-cupboard 
under  the  stairs.  Not  a  glimmer  of  phos- 
phorescence enlightened  the  gloom.  Miss 
Letitia  gave  it  time — at  least  three  minutes 
— and  finally  set  her  mind  at  rest. 

Selina  Jane  Edwards's  Rosie  Ann  was 
better.  Nobody  could  question  that ;  and 
the  neighbours  one  by  one  began  to  push 
into  the  cottage  kitchen  to  witness  Miss 
Letitia's  wonderful  cure.  When  that  young 
lady  returned  from  the  cupboard  she  found 
the  room  full. 

"Continue  the  oil,"  she  said  with  con- 
fidence. 

Then,  as  persistent  internal  lubrication 
gradually  set  the  little  Rosie  Ann  almost  free 
from  pain,  alarm  subsided,  and  the  tongues 
of  the  village  were  free  for  reasonable 
talk. 

"  I  do  really  believe,"  reflected  Selina  Jane 
Edwards,  "that  childern  be  the  most  wor- 
rittenest  things  'pon  earth.  (You  naughty 
chile  !  Drink  down  some  more  oil  to  once, 
an'  thank  Miss  Litisher  to  the  end  o'  your 
life.)     Now,  a  goat  is  a  wonderful  trouble- 


102  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

some  thing,  so  well  as  meddlesome.  I  kipt 
a  nanny  myself  once.  Her  wur  more  pig- 
headed 'an  any  calf.  You  never  didden  see 
the  likes  o'  she.  I  did  chain  un  up  to  apple- 
tree,  too  ;  but  lauk  !  her'd  eat  the  very  wash 
from  the  line  if  did  chance  to  blow  down 
'ithin  reach.  Her  eat  the  best  part  of  a 
sheet  an'  two  peddycuts  vor  I,  her  did.  An' 
wur  nothen'  the  wo'se.  Though  her  wur  a 
good  milker,  too,  an'  I  wur  terr'ble  sorry  to 
part  wi'  her.  But  childern,  now,  childern  be 
wo'se  'an  goats.  You  don't  dare  to  chain 
they  up,  an'  you  can't  part  wi'  'em.  No, 
you  can't !  (You  wicked  maid !  Drink  down 
the  oil  to  once  ! )." 

The  old  Betsy  Mogridge  is  a  little,  wizened 
old  soul,  with  a  face  as  wrinkled  as  the  old- 
fashioned  apple  that  folk  used  to  tell  us 
would  keep  till  apples  come  again.  Satisfied 
with  the  general  success  of  the  embrocation, 
even  when  misapplied,  she  took  a  genial 
view  of  the  subject. 

"  Well,  we  wuz  all  childern  once !  Zo 
there !  " 

There  are  truths  we  all  know  well,  accept, 


FIRST  AID  103 

and  readily  forget.  To  give  expression  to 
them  is  only  to  call  attention  to  their 
magnitude. 

"  Iss.  We  wuz  all  childern  once,  for 
certain  sure,"  they  cried  in  chorus. 

Softened  by  the  surrounding  unanimity, 
the  voice  of  the  Widow  Teape  became  genial 
and  communicative. 

"You  wouldn't  never  think  it,"  whispered 
she,  confident  of  a  lofty  moral  altitude  at- 
tained in  later  years,  "but  I  do  believe  I 
wuz  the  wustest  little  maid  that  ever  walked. 
Do  'ee  know  what  I  done  ?  I  drinked  out 
o'  the  spout  o'  the  kittle !  Father  brought 
un  out  an'  clapped  un  down  tap  o'  wall,  and 
I  corned  on  an'  I  drinked.  I  really  did.  Oh, 
you  niver  veeled  sich  agony  o'  pain.  Oh, 
massy  'pon  us  !  Oh,  my  droat — oh,  my  gullet, 
an'  I  fo'ced  to  bide  an'  glutchy  too  !  Oh,  all 
down  my  chest  and  my  inzides  !  For  he  had 
but  jus'  bin  'pon  the  boil,  like,  when  father 
put  un  down.  Well,  'twere  doctor  twice  a 
day  then  for  a  wick,  an'  thought  I  should 
ha'  died.  But  I  tell  'ee  this  :  'twur  a  lesson 
to   I.      I   never  ha'n't  drinkt  out  of  a  kittle 


io4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

since.  No  ;  I  could  take  my  Bible  oath  I 
never  ha'n't ! " 

"Drink  some  more  oil,"  interposed  Miss 
Letitia. 

A  statement  so  solemnly  made,  even  if 
incredible,  rises  above  question.  The  gossips 
murmured  a  belief  that  Mrs.  Teape  had  not 
quenched  her  thirst  from  the  spout  of  a 
kettle  since  that  early  occasion.  They  pre- 
dicted that  she  never  would.  Mrs.  Teape's 
experience  started  old  Mother  Mogridge  on 
a  story  of  her  own  infantile  iniquity. 

"  Now,  when  I  wur  a  little  maid,"  quavered 
the  old  soul,  "  I  do  mind  I  took  to  drink 
myself.  For  father  had  a  drop  o'  cider  in 
a  jug,  an'  to  be  sure  I  must  needs  goo  to 
take  a  sip.  So  I  put  a  chair  an'  climbed 
up  to  reach  the  dresser-tack.  An'  I  didden 
stop  to  look  inzide  the  jug,  mind.  I  don't 
tell  you  I  did.  But  I  drinkt.  An'  sure's  the 
light  there  wur  a  wopse.  Lauk !  How  he 
did  sting  my  tongue !  I  didden  swallow  un 
down.  Mind,  I  don't  tell  you  I  did.  I  spit 
un  out  so  quick's  I  could,  an'  hollared.  But 
I   never  didden  forget  thik  wopse.     An'    if 


FIRST  AID  105 

ever  I've  a-got  a  drop  o'  anything  to  put 
back  in  jug  or  cup,  I  do  put  plate  or  saucer 
up  'pon  top.  Summer  or  winter  just  the  very 
same.  Auvis  plate  or  saucer — never  fail. 
An'  no  soul  'pon  earth,  not  wi'  truth,  can't 
tell  you  no  differ'nt." 

"  Take  some  more  oil,  child  !  "  urged  Miss 
Letitia,  smiling  encouragement. 

"  Drink  it  down  to  once,  you  naughty 
girl !  "  commanded  Selina  Jane  Edwards,  and 
then  took  up  the  thread. 

"  Mind,  though  I  do  say  childern  be  wo'se 
'an  the  ten  plagues  o'  Egypt,"  began  she, 
with  broad-minded  candour,  "  I  don't  tell  you 
I  wur  never  a  plague  myself.  I  wur.  I  do 
own  it.  An'  I'll  tell  'ee  what  happened  to  I. 
Father  had  a-stickt  a  pig,  an'  to  be  sure, 
chile-like,  there  wur  I  all  agape,  eyes  an' 
mouth,  to  look  at  the  blood.  An'  he  had 
a-made  ready  to  scald  un,  too.  Now,  how 
could  fall  out  I  can't  say.  But  there,  I  took 
a  step  back  an'  sot  myzelf  down  in  the  pail 
o'  boilin'  water.  Oh,  I  wur  a-scalded,  to  be 
sure !  There,  father  he  did  use  to  say  for 
years,   if  ever  I  should  chance  to   be    toled 


io6  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

away  an'  carried  off  by  the  gipsies,  he  could 
swear  to  I  anywhere,  if  'twur  out  o'  ten 
thousand ! " 

Further  reminiscences  of  childhood  in 
Sutton  were  prevented  by  the  sound  of  wheels 
in  the  village  street,  and  the  hasty  entrance 
of  Dr.  Willoughby. 

He  is  young,  handsome,  a  man  you  might 
speak  to,  and  kind  to  the  poor.  So  he  is 
popular  in  the  neighbourhood  wherever  he 
goes. 

He  smelt  the  embrocation  gravely,  and, 
looking  at  Rosie  Ann  in  a  very  serious 
manner,  solemnly  assured  the  surrounding 
village  that,  but  for  the  promptitude  of  Miss 
Letitia  Purchase,  he  really  could  not  and 
would  not  undertake  to  say  what  might  not 
have  happened. 

He  casually  inquired  how  much  oil  the 
child  had  swallowed. 

Selina  Jane  measured  the  bottle  with  her 
eye,  and  replied  with  pride — 

"  The  best  part  of  a  quart." 

After  a  brief  reflection,  Dr.  Willoughby 
thought,  Rosie  Ann  being  out  of  danger,  the 


FIRST  AID  107 

administration  of  oil  might  cease ;  but  every 
intelligent  person  in  Sutton  will  tell  you  to 
this  day  that  "Miss  Litisher"  saved  the 
life  of  Selina  Jane  Edwards's  Rosie  Ann. 
It  is  a  grateful  parish,  and  will  never 
forget. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  Dr.  Willoughby 
left  the  cottage  in  company  with  Miss  Letitia 
Purchase  ;  and  it  was  noticed  that  he  did  not 
at  once  mount  his  cart  and  drive  away.  He 
walked  with  the  young  girl  as  far  as  the  gate 
of  the  Manor  House,  whilst  his  groom  drove 
slowly  up  the  street  behind. 

The  gossips  stood  watching  as  the  two 
figures  melted  into  the  dusk.  One  thrush 
was  singrino-  its  last  sonof. 

"Now,  I've  a-heard  their  names  a-men- 
tioned  together,  an'  more  an'  once,  too,  since 
thik  class,"  whispered  Selina  Jane. 

Selina  Jane's  charing  the  Manor  and  other 
houses  lent  especial  value  to  any  hearsay 
she  might  repeat,  because  getting  about  like 
that  there  was  no  knowing  what  she  mieht 
hear. 

"An'   I   do  hope  they  will   catch   a    mind 


108  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

to  each  other,  an'  wed  together,  and  live  so 
happy  as  the  day,"  cried  Keziah  Teape. 

"  Sure,  'tes  but  what  th'  Almighty  gied  'em 
their  youth  vor  !  Idden  it  ?  "  chuckled  the 
old  Betsy  Mogridge  as  she  hobbled  away. 

Perhaps  it  may  be.     Who  can  tell  ? 


CHAPTER   XI 
DAIRYMAN 

"  Dairyman  ! " 

He  is  not  constantly  seen  in  the  village. 
His  house  stands  remote  from  the  highway, 
almost  hidden  amongst  hedgerow  trees,  and 
approached  by  a  narrow  road,  which  leads 
through  pasture  fields  only  to  the  dairyhouse. 
His  name  is  Ebenezer  Dark,  and  none  but 
very  humble  people  address  him  as  Mr.  Dark. 
His  "  missus,"  as  he  occasionally  calls  his 
wife,  though  his  habit  is  to  address  her  cere- 
moniously as  Mrs.  Dark,  never  speaks  of  him 
otherwise  than  "Master."  He  rents  a  dairy 
of  thirty  cows  of  Mr.  William  Purchase,  and 
the  dairyhouse  in  the  old  days  was  the  Home 
Farm.  When  passing  Sutton  Street  of  a 
week-day  he  is  usually  driving  an  undipped 
old  brown  mare  in  a  market-cart,  now  and 


no  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

then  with  a  calf  or  so  under  a  net  behind  the 
seat.  Of  a  Sunday  he  is  always  going  to  or 
returning  from  church.  Under  neither  cir- 
cumstance  is  he  quite  himself  or  really  com- 
municative. The  serious  nature  of  his  errand 
appears  to  weigh  upon  him.  He  does  not 
draw  rein  or  stop  to  talk.  An  acquaintance 
nods — 

"  Dairyman !  " 

Dairyman  nods  back  the  name  of  the 
acquaintance. 

In  Sutton  every  degree  of  affection,  respect, 
or  proper  pride  can  be  conveyed  by  a  nod 
coupled  with  that  simple  salutation. 

Yet  Dairyman  is  by  no  means  a  taciturn 
man.  In  his  way  he  is  fond  of  company  and 
loves  everything  that  is  good — a  good  tale, 
an  old  song,  a  big  cup,  and  a  long  pipe.  But 
he  is  so  homely  that  the  only  place  where  he 
finds  himself  truly  at  home  is  the  dairyhouse. 
His  mind  is  so  simple,  that  in  spite  of  early 
rising,  hard  work,  and  the  bringing  up  of  a  con- 
siderable family  of  maidens,  he  has  grown  fat 
upon  contentment.  He  weighs,  by  his  own 
admission,   "  up   vowerteen    score,"    and   his 


DAIRYMAN  1 1 1 

height  is  "vive  voot  ten."     Such  dimensions 

o 

are  displayed  to  the  best  advantage  in  a  long 
white  milking  apron.  That  shows  up  also  his 
jolly  round  red  face  with  the  fat  cheeks  and  the 
double  chin.  Next  to  that,  Dairyman  looks 
well  filling  out  his  comfortable  chintz-covered 
arm-chair  by  the  fireside  when  the  day's  work 
is  done.  And  yet  there  are  folk  in  Sutton  who 
hold  the  opinion  that  Dairyman  would  be 
nothing  at  all  and  quite  lost  without  "  his 
missus." 

It  was  of  an  evening  late  in  April  in  a  broad 
pasture  sprinkled  with  cowslips  that  I  first 
talked  with  Dairyman. 

There  had  been  showers  during  the  day,  but 
for  a  while  the  sky  was  clear,  although  rain- 
drops glistened  on  the  grass.  From  a  shining 
holly  bush  in  the  hedgerow  a  blackbird  was 
fluting.  From  the  top  of  a  lofty  elm  a  thrush 
whistled  and  sang  with  all  his  heart.  A  litter 
of  young  rabbits  had  ventured  from  their  hole 
amongst  the  gnarled  roots  of  the  oak  that 
stands  alone  in  the  field.  Alert  at  the  pre- 
sence of  a  footfall  on  the  ground  they  lifted 
their  heads  and  pricked  their  ears.     The  herd, 


ii2  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

that  had  been  hidden  away  in  the  stalls  when 
I  first  "walked  out  round  like"  with  Mr. 
William  Purchase,  sleek  and  red  and  bright 
in  the  slanting  evening  light,  was  peacefully 
chewing  the  cud,  whilst  starlings  solemnly 
inarched  and  wagtails  gaily  ran  amidst  them. 
Then  came  the  rattle  of  wheels  bumping  in  the 
ruts  of  the  lane,  the  jingling  of  metal,  the 
laughter  and  the  shouts  of  voices  raised 
in  mirthful  expostulation.  The  blackbird 
darted  out  of  the  holly  bush.  Starlings  and 
wagtails  took  to  flight.  The  young  rabbits 
listened,  then  scuttled  out  of  sight.  The 
thrush  remained,  but  for  a  while  was  silent. 
Presently  a  lad  opened  the  gate,  and  the 
waggon  bringing  the  milkers,  Dairyman,  the 
woman  who  helps  Mrs.  Dark  about  house, 
and  two  of  Dairyman's  maidens,  crowded  to- 
gether in  front,  with  the  silvery  pails  and  cans 
behind,  turned  into  the  field  and  drew  up  under 
the  broad  shadow  of  the  hedge. 

Dairyman  descended  slowly  from  his  wag- 
gon. He  was  in  that  longwhite  apron  tied  with 
strings  and  reaching  below  the  knees  which 
is  the  modern  substitute  for  the  old  smock. 


DAIRYMAN  113 

In  a  lusty  voice  he  called  to  his  cows — 

"  Hobe — hobe — hobe — hobe " 

But  at  sight  of  the  waggon  many  of  the  herd 
had  risen  and  were  slowly  coming  towards  the 
milking-place.  An  old  bob-tailed  cow-dog  ran 
around  the  sluggards  and  barked,  but  mostly 
for  form's  sake.  The  hindermost  cows  gave 
a  canter  and  a  kick,  but  merely  in  derision  of 
this  formality.  The  boy  unhitched  the  horse 
and  tied  him  up  to  the  hedge,  yet  so  that  he 
could  amuse  himself  with  a  bite  of  grass.  The 
woman  and  Dairyman's  maidens  came  each 
with  stool  and  pail,  moving  quietly  amongst 
the  placid  beasts  and  settling  down  to  a  chosen 
cow.  Morn  and  evening  each  milked  the  same 
cows,  or  with  little  variation,  and  Dairyman  and 
the  woman  took  those  which  did  not  readily 
yield  their  milk.  For  cattle  are  as  different  the 
one  from  the  other  as  human  beings.  Some 
are  ready  and  generous,  others  restless  and 
untrustful.  Dairyman's  cows  stood  motion- 
less and  ruminant — more  completely  lost  in 
thought  than  many  wise-looking  people  who 
cannot  think.  The  old  dog  went  quietly  away 
some  score  of  yards  to  lie  down  by  himself. 


ii4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

And  with  the  hum  of  the  milk  a  sweetness 
rose  from  the  pail  to  mingle  with  the  breath  of 
kine  and  add  another  fragrance  to  the  scented 
growth  of  spring. 

Dairyman  strolled  forward  to  pass  the  time 
of  day. 

" 'Tis  pleasant  in  the  fields  the  time  o' 
year." 

And  most  certainly  there  was  also  some- 
thing pleasant  in  the  modulation  of  his  voice, 
for  Dairyman  speaks  in  a  singsong  drawl  as 
suited  to  his  pastoral  surroundings  as  the 
cooing  of  the  pigeons  in  the  wood  not  far 
away. 

"And  milking-time  the  most  pleasant  of 
all." 

"  But  this  is  only  half  of  it,  you  know. 
There's  a  pretty  sharp  frost  even  now  in  the 
early  mornen.  Sure  enough  the  ground  were 
so  white  as  a  sheet  to-day  mornen.  Oh,  the 
maidens  found  it  a  little  bit  finger-cold  to-day 
mornen." 

"  The  frosts  will  soon  be  over.  The 
summer  mornings  must  be  as  beautiful  as 
this." 


DAIRYMAN  115 

"Why,  heart  alive,  an'  so  they  be.  But, 
mark  me,  'tis  always  beaudiful  —  terr'ble 
beaudiful  "  —  he  paused,  and  his  eyes 
twinkled  in  anticipation  of  the  coming  joke 
— "  to  stand  by  an'  look  on." 

"  But  the  cows  are  worth  looking  at,  Mr. 
Dark." 

"  Ah !  Where  can  any  man  wish  to  see  or 
show  better.  Now,  this  I  will  say,  anything 
second-rate  Mr.  William  Purchase  don't  keep 
long.  They  be  good  milkers,  too.  They  be 
quiet  cows — and  a  good  milker  is  mostly  a 
quiet  cow.  You  see  they've  never  been 
hunted  about.  We  do  treat  'em  ofentle. 
There's  no  bang  'em  on  the  pinbone  wi'  a 
milken-stool  about  we.  We  do  talk  to  'em 
instead.  The  old-fashioned  way  used  to  be 
to  sing  'em  a  ditty  to  sooth  'em,  an'  make  'em 
gie  down  their  milk.  An'  my  maidens— well, 
I  don't  deny  they  do  pitch  a  stave,  now  an' 
again,  when  there's  nobody  about.  I  can't 
tell  how  'tis — but  at  times  in  the  quiet  to 
my  ear  do  sound  most  wonderful  sweet." 

"You  must  make  some  big  cheeses." 

"  Mrs.  Dark  do — though  I  say  it  myself — 


n6  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

make  some  wonderful  fine  cheeses,  now  on 
through  all  the  summer  months.  But  look  in 
some  day  when  you  may  chance  to  ramble 
near  the  house  on  your  walks.  Mrs.  Dark'll 
take  a  pride  in  showing  her  dairy.  Well, 
Mrs.  Dark  is  quite  celebrated  for  her 
cheeses." 

The  woman  carrying  a  pail  on  her  head, 
steadied  by  an  upraised  arm,  walked  across  to 
the  waggon  and  poured  the  warm,  frothing 
milk  into  one  of  the  cans. 

"Well,  well.  I  mustn't  stand  an'  look  on. 
Mrs.  Dark  don't  like  to  be  kept  waiting  if  we 
should  be  a  bit  late." 

Thus  he  bade  me  good  evening,  and  was 
soon  with  his  head  tucked  into  the  hollow 
above  a  cow's  full  udder. 

In  the  lane  I  happened  to  loiter  a  while,  so 
I  was  out  of  sight  long  before  I  was  out  of 
hearing.  Presently  Dairyman's  maidens, 
believing  that  nobody  was  about,  pitched 
their  stave.  I  have  never  met  with  the 
words  elsewhere  and  scarcely  believe  they 
can  be  in  print.  The  maidens  had  a  very 
quaint  way  of  singing — first  a  line  each  as 


DAIRYMAN  117 

a   solo    and    then    a    third    line    together   in 
very  simple  harmony  : — 

I'll  take  the  footpath  that  goes  by  the  mill. 
I'll  take  the  beaten  track  that  winds  round  the  hill. 
And  we'll  meet  by  the  wood  when  evening  is  still. 

I'll  bring  a  crooked  ninepence  to  break  it  in  twain. 
I'll  hang  it  o'er  my  heart,  love,  for  ever  to  remain. 

For  all  the  world's  so  wide,  love,  we'll  never  part  again. 

I'll  spin  a  fleece  o'  lamb's  wool  to  knit  me  some  hose. 
I'll  put  away  my  pennies  to  buy  me  new  clothes. 
And  we'll  go  as  fine,  love,  as  all  the  world  goes. 

I'll  step  down  to  neighbour's  a  swarm  for  to  buy. 
All  to  twist  a  bee-butt  I'll  thresh  a  sheaf  o'  rye. 
And  we'll  live  on  honey,  love,  until  we  die. 

I'll  go  a-gleaning  till  setting  o'  the  sun. 

I'll  take  a  grist  to  mill  so  soon  as  work  is  done. 

We  shall  never  lack  wheaten  bread— till  there  is  none. 

I'll  gather  goose  down  to  make  a  feather  bed. 

Oh  !     A  stick  of  oaken  timber  to  build  a  bedstead  ; 

For  afore  the  year  is  out,  love,  we'll  to  church  and  wed. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER  " 

Japheth  Pike,  in  his  manner  of  life  and  modes 
of  thought,  savours  more  of  the  country  than 
any  other  person  in  Sutton.  This  seems  the 
more  remarkable  as  he  is  by  no  means  an  old 
man  nor  indeed  even  middle-aged.  He  was 
the  youngest  son  of  old  Noah  Pike,  a  wheel- 
wright of  considerable  repute  in  his  day, 
whose  handsome  waggons,  with  their  curved 
raves  (those  ladder-like  frames  which  held  the 
load  above  the  wheels),  are  still  to  be  met 
with  at  haymaking  and  harvest,  or  on  the 
high  roads  for  many  miles  around  Sutton. 
Japheth  is  in  fact  in  the  prime  of  life — an 
uncertain  period,  which  the  reader  may 
designate    according    to    his   own    a^e    and 

o  o  o 

opinions. 

Japheth  is  not  a  Sutton  man  by  birth.     Old 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER"  119 

Noah  earned  distinction  at  Hazelgrove  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hill ;  but  village  waggon- 
building  scarcely  lasted  his  time,  and  some 
years  ago  trundled  away  to  the  factory  in  the 
big  town.  Japheth,  as  Mrs  Josiah  Heppell 
has  explained  to  me,  "having  wed  wi'  one  o' 
Sutton,  after  a  few  words  like  wi'  his  brothers, 
jacked  up,  took  the  little  house  an'  yard  down 
street,  and  corned  to  Sutton  to  set  up  for  his 
own  self.  A  good  sober  man,  a  good  husband 
and  father,  an'  she  such  a  piteous  little  ooman, 
too — but  la,"  added  that  excellent  woman, 
with  all  the  condescension  of  the  wife  of  a 
master  mason  grown  into  a  builder,  "there! 
he  is  but  a  sort  of  a  kind  of  a  hedge-caffender 
after  all." 

The  little  house  with  the  yard  down  street 
is  a  commonplace  small  dwelling,  with  no 
feature  more  important  than  the  arched  pro- 
jection of  painted  metal  which  serves  as  an 
inefficient  shelter  to  the  front  door.  What- 
ever of  interest  the  place  possesses  must  be 
sought  for  in  the  yard.  There  is  a  work- 
shop with  sides  of  rough  boards,  and  a  store 
of  straight    poles    leaning  against    the    end. 


120  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Through  the  open  door,  when  Japheth  is  at 
work  at  home,  a  carpenter's  bench  with  its 
wooden  vice  and  handle  may  be  dimly  seen. 
But  that  is  not  the  best  time  or  place  to 
interview  Japheth.  He  is  always  more 
talkative  over  a  job  in  the  open  air.  In 
front  of  the  hedge  between  the  house  and 
the  shop  are  boards  set  up  crosswise  against 
a  sort  of  gallows  of  poles  to  season,  and 
close  by  the  wall  is  a  grindstone.  But  the 
place  is  often  left  as  a  playground  for  Japheth's 
younger  children  ;  for  a  large  stick  of  timber 
lying  across  the  yard  serves  as  a  famous  rest 
for  a  plank  to  play  see-saw.  There  they  play 
for  hours  unnoticed,  except  when  Mrs.  Pike, 
a  thin,  sallow  woman  with  black  hair,  comes 
periodically  to  the  door,  scans  them  in  search 
of  evidence  of  iniquity,  and  having  said  with 
approval,  "  There's  good  children,  now  don't 
ee  fall  into  the  saw-pit,  none  o'  ee,  mind  that," 
disappears  as  suddenly  as  she  came.  Now 
and  again  there  is  a  waggon  to  patch  up,  and 
then,  until  the  time  of  wet  paint,  the  children 
climb  about  it.  Most  of  his  home  work,  such 
as  coop-making,  for  instance,  Japheth  does  in 


WHEN  EVENING  IS  STILL 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  R.F. 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER"  121 

the  early  morning  or  of  an  evening  sometimes 
by  candlelight,  and  many  of  his  days  are  spent 
in  the  fields. 

Japheth  is  not  illiterate.  Noah,  being  well 
to  do,  sent  him  as  a  day-boy  to  the  smallest 
kind  of  commercial  school  in  the  little  town 
of  Oldbury  not  far  from  Hazelgrove.  He  is 
fond  of  reading  and  consumes  the  local 
weekly  paper  at  leisure  of  a  Sunday.  If  he 
happens  upon  a  book  of  adventure,  suitable 
to  a  big  boy,  he  loves  it,  and  wants  no  other 
for  a  year  at  least.  Japheth  has  a  deep 
respect  for  print.  As  a  result,  Mrs.  Pike 
derives  her  greatest  comfort  in  life  from 
patent  medicines. 

In  fact,  Japheth  Pike  is  nothing  but  a  great 
boy  himself.  He  looks  it.  His  face  is  frank 
and  good-humoured,  but  it  seems  never  to 
have  put  on  the  man.  In  reality  I  think  he 
has  all  the  virtues  of  the  man  without  the 
guile  that  so  often  grows  with  the  years. 
He  is  sandy-haired  and  blue-eyed,  large  in 
limb,  and  so  muscular  that  it  is  a  common 
saying  in  Sutton  that  Japheth  Pike  does  not 
know  his  strength.     He  is    supposed    never 


122  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

yet  to  have  made  a  demand  which  has  taught 
him  the  limit  of  it. 

It  was  at  the  time  when  the  blackthorns 
all  round  the  hedgerows  of  the  homefield 
were  white  with  blossom  that  I  came  upon 
Japheth  and  his  eldest  lad  late  of  a  cold, 
biting  afternoon.  He  had  just  lifted  the  gate 
upon  its  hinges  and  was  letting  it  swing  to 
watch  how  it  would  fall  to. 

"Very  sharp,"  said  he.  "Blackthorn 
winter  to  rights,  an'  no  mistake."  And  he 
held  open  the  gate  for  me  to  pass. 

"  A  new  gate  ?" 

"  No.  Only  a  new  bar  to  the  gate.  We've 
just  put  in  a  new  Prime  Minister.  He's  a 
bit  o'  hard  oak.  He'll  outlast  any  they've  a- 
got  up  to  London  town,  I'll  warrant  un,"  he 
laughed  as  he  tapped  the  head  of  the  hang- 
ing-post with  an  approval  almost  amounting 
to  affection. 

"Why  a  Prime  Minister?" 

"  That's  only  my  name  for  un.  All  the 
whole  concarn  do  depend  'pon  un.  So  long 
as  he  do  hold  up  firm  and  straight  all  do  go 
suant." 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER  "  123 

He  let  go  the  gate  again.  It  fell  slowly 
home  and  smoothly  fastened  itself. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Japheth,  and  set  to 
putting  together  his  few  tools. 

"What  do  you  call  the  other  post?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  he's  of  much  smaller  'count.  He's 
no  more  an'  a  common  Member  o'  Parlia- 
ment." 

My  way  home  passed  his  house.  The  lad 
hurried  off,  and  he  and  I  walked  along  to- 
gether. He  talked  of  nothing  but  the  vil- 
lage.  That  there  was  a  new  shooting  tenant 
— a  Mr.  Peter  Badgery — a  Londoner — and 
the  keeper  had  ordered  fifty  new  coops. 
That  he  was  coming  down  very  soon  for  a 
week-end,  on  one  of  them  there  motor  cars. 
That  there  were  some  oak  to  be  thrown  in 
the  big  wood,  and  Squire  Winsfield  had 
given  him  the  job. 

"  I  digged  up  a  funny  thing  last  haymak- 
ing," said  he  as  we  drew  near  his  door, 
"  when  I  was  putting  up  a  rail  round  a  rick. 
Some  do  say  'tis  a  fairy-bolt.  My  wife  do 
believe  that  maybe  'tis  worth  money.    Likely 


i24  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

enough  you  could  just  spare  a  minute  to  tell 
me  what  'tis,  if  you  would  please  to  step  in." 

That  was  how  I  came  to  meet  the  "  piteous 
little  ooman." 

"An'  how  is  it  now,  Jinny?"  asked  her 
husband. 

"Terr'ble  bad.  Such  stabben  pains  under 
the  shoulder  blade,"  she  whined.  By  the 
side  of  this  great  strong  man  she  looked 
more  than  ever  insignificant — so  small,  thin, 
and  narrow-shouldered. 

"  Well,  cheer  up.  Did  ee  take  the  stuff? " 
His  gaiety  was  gone,  his  voice  most  gentle 
and  solicitous. 

"'Tis  no  orood.  There's  nothen  in  this 
world  can't  do  no  good.  Doctors'  stuff  can't 
touch  no  such  complaint  as  I've  a-got."  See- 
ing the  stranger,  without  pausing  she  turned 
to  me  and  explained  herself.  "  'Tis  very  sad 
— very  sad  indeed — when  you  do  waste,  an' 
waste,  an'  got  no  heart  for  your  victuals,  an' 
can't  make  no  use  o'  the  little  you  do  fo'ce 
yourself  to  take  in.  An'  some  days  you  be 
all  of  a  trem'el,  and  other  days  you  be  all  to 
a  cold  sweat ;  but  as  'tis,  so  'tis,  an'  so  mus' 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER"  125 

be,  for  there's  no  cure  for  what  I've  a-got.  I 
be  booked  for  another  world.  I  do  know 
what  'tis  the  matter.  I  be  booked  so 
sure " 

Her  husband  interrupted. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  the  fairy-bolt,  Jinny. 
Maybe  he  can  tell  us  what  'tis." 

The  fairy-bolt  was  but  a  little  flint  arrow- 
head. Mrs.  Pike  looked  both  surprised  and 
suspicious  to  hear  that  it  was  not  worth  a 
little  fortune. 

"  It  used  to  be  lucky,  so  I've  a-been  told, 
to  find  a  fairy-bolt.  Sure,  we've  a-got  need 
enough  o'  luck.  Maybe  t'ull  bring  it  to 
Japheth  and  the  children.  But  nothen  can't 
bring  it  to  me.  I  do  know  what  'tis,  an'  I  be 
booked — I  be  booked,  so  safe " 

Some  fortnight  or  perhaps  three  weeks 
elapsed  before  I  again  fell  in  with  Japheth 
Pike.  It  was  morning,  and  he  was  passing 
down  the  street,  his  tool  basket  hanging  over 
his  shoulder  on  the  haft  of  his  felling-axe. 
The  lad  was  with  him  and  carried  the  saw. 
They  were  on  their  way  to  the  wood  to  throw 


i26  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

the  last  of  the  oak  trees  he  had  spoken 
about. 

"  'Tis  a  wonderful  still  day  and  a  good 
ripping-time,"  said  he. 

So  we  went  into  "merry  green  wood"  at 
the  beginning  of  May,  within  a  day  or  two 
of  the  time,  taking  into  consideration  the 
change  in  the  calendar,  when  our  forefathers 
used  to  go  there, 

"  For  to  fetch  the  summer  home." 

In  the  copse  the  elder  was  covered  in  foli- 
age, and  the  hazel  had  opened  its  crisp  young- 
leaves.  The  petals  of  the  blackthorn  still 
lay  like  a  hoar-frost  under  the  shadow  of  the 
black  limbs  upon  which  its  young  sprouts  of 
green  were  bursting  abroad.  The  hawthorn 
was  in  flower,  and  in  the  still  air  the  scent  of 
it  filled  the  grassy  ride  down  which  we 
walked.  The  stately  beech  trees  had  put  on 
the  glossy  robes  that  hang  around  them  like 
spreading  skirts  and  hide  the  bare  ground, 
brown  with  last  year's  husks,  where  the 
squirrel  came  of  a  mild  winter  day  to  visit 
his  hidden  store  of  nuts. 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER"  127 

We  came  to  an  open  space  where  the 
copse  had  been  cut. 

With  the  inflowino-  of  lioht  and  warmth  the 
ground  had  become  covered  with  flowers. 
Large  white  anemones  still  lingered,  but  the 
whole  place  was  yellow  with  clumps  of  full- 
blown primroses,  intermixed  with  patches  of 
the  delicate  pale  lilac  of  the  wood-violet.  Be- 
yond lay  strips  of  hyacinths,  so  blue  that  one 
might  almost  mistake  them  for  the  sky  mir- 
rored in  sheets  of  still  water.  And  from  all 
sides  came  the  music  of  birds.  Hard  by  a 
cuckoo  was  calling,  insisting  upon  his  pre- 
sence with  constant  repetition  of  his  tale. 
Now  and  then  from  the  depth  of  the  wood 
sounded  the  crow  of  a  cock  -  pheasant. 
Amongst  the  branches  chaffinches  pinked  and 
sang  boldly  against  each  other  ;  whilst  unseen, 
from  a  distance,  came  the  frequent  soft  trill 
of  the  greenfinch.  Close  by  was  a  chiff-chaff, 
constantly  announcing  himself  by  name,  and 
little  willow-wrens,  the  sweetest  little  musi- 
cians of  the  woods,  kept  singing  their  soft 
cadences  on  every  hand.  In  the  centre  of  this 
paradise  stood  a  noble  oak.     On  every  twig 


i28  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

each  bud  was  opening  into  fresh  green  leaf, 
and  his  head  stood  out  in  clear  tracery  against 
a  sky  which  had  no  cloud.  From  one  of  his 
limbs  sang  a  fluttering  little  wood-wren,  with 

his  "  Tweee tweee  ;  twee — twee — twee — 

twe,  twe,  twe." 

The  oak  was  marked  with  a  number  in 
white  paint. 

"  Clear  away  the  rubbage  round  un,"  said 
Japheth  to  the  boy,  and  he  stript  himself  of 
coat  and  waistcoat  and  laid  them  on  a  faggot 
close  by. 

Japheth  walked  round  and  scanned  the 
tree. 

"  He's  a  monarch,"  said  he,  with  his  boyish 
laugh.  "  He's  at  his  best.  He  never  have 
been  better.  An'  he  couldn'  well  grow  better 
if  he  were  let  bide.  So  that's  a  fit  time 
for  kingdom-come  to  my  mind.  Do  seem 
a'most  a  pity  to  throw  un,  all  in  his  pride,  wi' 
the  sape  (Japheth  pronounced  sap  to  rhyme 
with  tape)  a-risen  ;  but  you've  a-got  to  leave 
a  oak  till  the  breaken  o'  the  leaf,  or  the  bark 
won't  run.     Gie  us  the  axe,  boy." 

He  o lanced  at  the  lean  of  the  tree  and  the 

o 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER"  129 

lie  of  the  land.     "  Let's  fell  un  away  well  this 
side,  an'  let  un  fall  this  way." 

He  spit  in  his  hands.  "  Here's  luck," 
said  he. 

This  spitting  in  the  hands  is  not,  as  it  may 
appear  to  the  modern  observer,  a  mere  appli- 
cation of  moisture  to  give  a  good  grip  upon 
the  handle  of  the  tool.  The  man  who  does  it 
to-day  probably  regards  it  in  that  light.  But 
it  is  the  survival  of  the  practice  of  spitting  to 
bring  luck  upon  an  enterprise.  The  Roman 
pugilists,  we  are  told,  spit  in  their  hands  be- 
fore the  combat,  and  you  would  see  many  a 
countryman  do  so  to-day  when  clenching  his 
fists  in  the  hubbub  of  a  rustic  brawl. 

"  Here  goes  !  " 

The  executioner  was  worthy  of  the  victim. 
Japheth  swung  his  axe,  and  the  thud  of  each 
blow  resounded  through  the  wood  and  echoed 
from  the  vale.  Great  yellow  chips  sprang 
away,  to  lose  themselves  amongst  the  dog's- 
mercury  or  lie  unnoticed  amongst  the  prim- 
roses. The  songs  of  the  birds  were  hushed, 
or  fell  on  the  unconscious  ear  only  as  a  faint 
whisper  from  the  distance.  Very  soon  there 
9 


130  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

was  a  deep  undercut  on  the  side  on  which  the 
oak  was  to  fall. 

"  Bring  on  the  saw,  boy,"  said  Japheth. 

The  sawing  was  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
almost  reached  the  undercut. 

"  Sometimes  when  there's  a  wind  a  tree 
may  split  an'  fall  before  'tis  time  like.  Or 
you  may  have  to  haul  on  his  head  wi'  a  rope 
to  throw  un  where  you  will.  But  a  still  day 
like  this  you  can  throw  a  good  tree  to  a  foot. 
Let's  ha'  a  couple  o'  wedges,  boy." 

He  drove  the  wedges  to  open  the  saw-cut, 
which  already  gaped  ever  so  little. 

Crack ! 

"  He's  a-comen,"  cried  Japheth,  and,  with 
a  last  tap  of  the  back  of  the  axe  on  the  wedge, 
stood  back  to  watch. 

The  great  tree  just  swayed  ;  paused  as  if  it 
would  not  fall — lost  its  balance — toppled  for- 
ward—  slowly,  but  always  gaining  pace  — 
faster— faster — crash  ! 

There  is  no  sound  on  earth  like  that  crash. 

The  great  tree  broke  its  limbs — it  flattened 
itself. 

"  There's  nothen  to  my  mind  such  a  sorrow- 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER"  131 

ful  wreck  as  the  broken  limbs  of  a  great  tree," 
said  Japheth.  The  contemplation  of  this 
destruction,  so  sudden  and  complete,  was  a 
delieht  to  him.  His  honest  face  beamed 
with  pleasure  and  he  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed. 

Close  by  were  some  birch  poles,  silver 
and  brown  in  the  light,  leaning  against 
the  limb  of  an  ash  just  breaking  into  its 
feathery  foliage.  Whilst  the  boy  was  busy 
trimming  away  with  a  hook  all  the  twigs  of 
the  fallen  tree  that  were  too  small  for  ripping, 
Japheth  cut  two  forked  props,  about  the  size 
of  his  "hand-wrist,"  as  he  explained,  and  drove 
them  into  the  ground.  Then  he  laid  a  birch 
pole  in  the  forks  to  serve  as  a  rail  against  which 
to  set  his  bark  to  dry. 

"  Bring  on  the  ripping-irons,"  said  Japheth. 

The  ripping-iron  is  a  sort  of  curved  chisel 
with  a  short  wooden  handle.  Between  the 
rough  dry  bark  and  the  smooth  yellow  timber 
lies  the  channel  of  the  sap,  at  springtide  and 
the  breaking  of  the  leaf  rising  in  full  flood. 
If  the  time  be  well  chosen,  the  bark  runs 
under  the  pressure   of  the   iron,  and  comes 


132  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

away  in  long  strips  and  shields.  But  not, 
as  it  were,  without  expostulation.  It  cracks 
and  shrieks  as  it  runs. 

"He's  a-crying,"  laughed  Japheth. 

That  is  the  word  of  the  woodman  when  the 
ripping  goes  merrily. 

The  bark  leans  three  or  four  days  against 
its  rail  to  dry,  and  is  then  bound  in  bundles 
of  about  a  hundred-weight  with  withes  of  halse 
or  birch.  The  bundles  are  stacked  against 
some  neighbouring-  tree  to  await  the  waggon. 
The  tree  itself  is  "  knotched,"  that  is  trimmed 
of  his  limbs,  and  lies  "  a  stick  of  timber,"  per- 
haps for  months,  before  the  coming  of  the 
dealer's  timber-carriage. 

I  left  the  wood  before  the  day's  work  was 
done. 

As  I  passed  down  the  glade  under  the 
over-arching  branches,  the  picture  of  Japheth 
swinging  his  great  felling-axe  was  fresh  in  my 
imagination.  In  his  strength,  in  his  capability 
for  the  work  he  undertakes,  in  his  good- 
humour  and  light-heartedness,  he  seemed  to 
me  in  his  walk  of  life  a  complete  man.  Could 
he  be  happier  if  his  mind  were  more  complex, 


THE  "HEDGE  CAFFENDER  "  133 

more  advanced  ? — if  it  be  advancement  to 
suffer  this  fastidious  increase  of  physical  wants 
and  weary  augmentation  of  mental  perplexi- 
ties. I  could  almost  envy  this  "  hedge- 
caffender  "  his  simple  life  amongst  the  hedge- 
rows and  in  the  woods,  with  a  job  always  ready 
to  hand  for  which  his  hand  is  always  ready,  if 
only — he  had  found  a  better  mate  than  the 
"  piteous  little  ooman  "  to  whom  he  spoke  so 
kindly. 

It  happened  that  he  entered  his  house  that 
evening  as  I  passed  homeward  down  the 
street.  Both  door  and  window  were  open  to 
the  sweet  air  of  May. 

"  And  how  is  it  now,  Jinny  ?  " 

"'Tis  no  good,  Japheth.  I  be  booked 
— I  be  booked  so  sure — I  do  know  I 
be " 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Japheth  Pike's 
wife  ?  "  I  asked  of  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  as  she 
served  the  evening  repast. 

She  drew  closer  and  stammered  in  her  most 
mysterious  window-whisper. 

"  Well — to  tell  truth — Jane  Pike — she  was 


i34  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

one  of  a  very  rough  family — not  at  all  so 
respectable  and — and  select  like  as  the  Pikes. 
Mind — I  always  have  a-said — I  do  say — and 
I  always  shall  say — that  Japheth  did  right  and 
— and — well,  acted  the  man,  when  he  married 
the  girl.  The  Pikes  was  very  upset.  An' 
now  she  do  believe  an'  o-ie  out  that  she's  a- 
witched  by  Japheth 's  brother's  wife.  There's 
some  men  about  'ud  beat  it  out  o'  her.  But 
la !  How  could  a  man  such  as  Japheth  lift 
his  han'  to  such  a  poppen  little  Jinny  Wren 
as  that  piteous  little  ooman  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XIII 

FINDING  A  BIRD'S  NEST 

Mr.  Peter  Badgery,  on  whose  behalf  the 
fifty  coops  were  ordered  of  Japheth  Pike,  not 
only  kept  his  word  as  to  coming  to  Sutton  for 
a  week-end,  but  was  so  delighted  with  his 
visit  that  he  determined  to  run  down  every 
Saturday  throughout  the  spring  and  summer. 
He  is  a  fine  man.  He  comes  in  a  large 
check  knickerbocker  suit,  and  a  pair  of  new 
gaiters  of  the  finest  quality  and  fit.  Yet  Mr. 
Peter  Badgery  is  not  to  be  called  a  cockney 
in  any  sense  of  the  word.  The  Badgery  is 
an  old-fashioned  true-blue  stock,  and  there  is 
a  deal  in  blood  as  we  all  know  ;  but  Peter 
was  born  and  passed  his  school-days  in  a 
manufacturing  town,  whence  he  paid  holiday 
visits  to  country  relatives,  and  breathed  a 
whiff  or    so    of   unadulterated    country    air. 


136  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Thus  quite  early  in  life,  on  a  frosty  Christmas 
morning,  he  compassed  the  death  of  a  wild 
duck  by  taking  a  walk  at  daybreak  up  the 
miller's  brook.  He  went  to  rook-shootingf 
parties  and,  scorning  perchers,  brought  down 
flyers  in  fine  style.  He  was  not  altogether 
unacquainted  with  the  ways  of  the  rabbit,  its 
disposition  to  go  abroad  in  the  cool  of  a  dewy 
summer  evening,  and  its  incomprehensible 
refusal  to  bolt  on  a  cold  December  day.  He 
had  also  waited  among  the  autumn  sheaves 
or  at  sunset  in  the  dark  pine  spinney  for  wood 
pigeons  to  drop  in.  And  suddenly  he  was 
snatched  from  these  holiday  delights  to  be 
planted  "  out  in  life  "  in  a  Tooley  Street  office 
devoted  to  hides.  But  Peter  Badgery  struck 
root,  and  flourished  like  a  pelargonium  cutting 
in  a  flower-pot.  He  blossomed  into  general 
manager,  and  very  soon  expanded  into  full 
flower  as  a  junior  partner. 

Then  he  went  down  to  the  village  and 
married  the  miller's  daughter. 

They  lived  in  West  Hampstead,  in  a  de- 
tached villa  with  a  lawn  the  size  of  a  hearth- 
rug, on  each  side  of  a  tessellated  pavement 


JArHETH  AT  WORK 

Front  a  ivatcr-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


m 


ji 


FINDING  A  BIRD'S  NEST  137 

leading  from  the  gate  to  the  front  door,  and 
an  almond  tree  spreading  into  the  road  over 
the  privet  hedge  and  the  palisade.  Nothing 
even  in  Sutton  could  be  more  idyllic.  Peter 
and  Mrs.  Badgery  were  as  happy  as  a  pair 
of  goldfinches.  What  with  the  business,  the 
house,  and  in  due  course  the  little  ones,  there 
was  nothing-  on  earth  to  be  wished  for.  Of 
an  evening  they  would  read  the  Nature 
articles  in  their  daily  paper.  Thus  they 
picked  up  plovers'  eggs,  gathered  nuts,  and 
went  a-mushrooming,  all  in  season,  and  in  fact, 
enjoyed  in  imagination  all  those  perennial 
rural  delights  which  never  grow  stale. 

Then  they  took  to  dreaming  over  their 
little  grate  of  coal. 

"If  things  go  on  as  they  go  at  present," 
said  Peter,  "  I  tell  you  what  'tis,  Jane — we'll 
buy  an  estate  one  of  these  days." 

"  That  would  be  lovely,  Peter,"  sighed 
Jane. 

"Yes.     With  a  fine  old  house." 

"  But  not  too  large  and  expensive  to  keep 
up." 

"  No,  no.     And  a  bit  of  wood  to  have  a 


138  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

pheasant  or  so — and  a  brook  to  give  a  chance 
of  a  wild  duck — and — and,  be  hanged  if  I 
wouldn't  keep  a  farm  in  hand,  and  manage  it 
myself." 

Then  Jane  would  laugh  until  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  She  at  least  was  country- 
bred. 

"  You  couldn't  do  it,  Peter.  You'd  lose 
money.  You  don't  know  those  country  folk. 
They'd  have  you.  You'd  get  'proper  a- 
sucked  in,'  as  they  call  it.  You're  a  sharp 
man,  Peter,  I  know — but  Tooley  Street  is 
no  more  than  an  infant  school  to  a  country 
market." 

Then  Peter  laughed  too  at  the  idea  of  his 
beino-  had. 

"  I  don't  care.  It  would  add  ten  years  to 
my  life  to  watch  lambs  grow  up  into  ewes 
— and  all  that.  I  should  breed  a  colt  or 
two 

"Oh,  Peter!  Peter!  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  You'd 
never  do  it  but  once." 

"Why  not?  Why  not?"  Peter  ap- 
peared to  be  getting  a  little  crusty. 

"  Nobody  ever  did,  Peter — for  pleasure." 


FINDING  A  BIRD'S  NEST  139 

"  Why — Nature  does  the  whole  trick. 
You  just " 

"'  No,  no,  Peter.  It's  the  colts  that  do  the 
tricks " 

"Not  at  all!  Not  at  all!"  cried  Peter. 
"  Nothing  can  be  more  simple.  No  business 
worries !  Purchase  a  really  good  mare,  and 
there  you  are." 

Things  went  so  well  that  towards  middle 
age,  Peter  feeling,  as  he  put  it,  the  want  of 
exercise,  and  that  he  really  must  unbend  the 
bow,  determined  to  take  a  shoot.  He  said  it 
would  be  such  a  capital  thing  for  the  boys. 
A  rough  shoot,  with  plenty  of  walking  after 
wild  birds,  was  his  mark.  Not  a  slaughter  of 
poor  hand-fed  creatures  that  had  to  be  hunted 
into  flight  like  barn-door  fowls. 

Peter  Badgery  felt  very  indignant  about 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  almost  swore  that  he 
would  never  countenance  it  though  he  should 
live  to  a  hundred.  No!  He  would  have  his 
shoot  just  as  Nature  intended,  with  a  keeper 
to  look  after  poachers  and  keep  down  vermin. 
And  there  must  be  a  nice  cottage  which  the 
keeper's  wife,  a    homely,    clean,    respectable 


140  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

woman,  could  look  after,  and  keep  well  aired 
when  they  were  not  there. 

Peter  Badgery  found  a  place  just  to  his 
mind  when  he  took  Wynberry  Hill.  To  be 
sure  at  first  there  was  no  great  head  of  game 
on  the  shoot,  but  then,  as  the  keeper  explained, 
it  had  been  so  neglected.  Why  the  very 
hedges  stank  of  rats  and  stoats,  and  the  sky, 
in  a  manner  of  speaking,  was  really  black  with 
crows  and  great  blue  hawks.  "  Only  wait  a 
bit,  sir,"  said  the  keeper,  "and  then  if  you 
should  but  hear  a  jay  scream  or  catch  sight 
of  so  much  as  the  tail  of  a  magpie,  why, 
you  show  un  to  me,  that's  all." 

"  But  after  all,  my  dear,"  explained  Peter 
to  his  wife,  "the  mere  shooting  is  not  the 
chief  advantage  to  be  derived  from  renting 
a  shoot.  No,  no!  The  week-end  in  spring 
is  the  thing.  With  all  the  birds  mating,  nest- 
ing,  and  singing,  it  brings  a  man  in  touch 
with  Nature.  Just  think  of  the  anemones  and 
the  primroses,  and  then  the  bluebells,  like  a 
lake  of  water  in  the  wood.  Picture  the  cow- 
slips dotted  all  over  the  meadow." 

Peter  would  return  from  his  week-end  thus 


FINDING  A  BIRD'S  NEST  141 

eloquentof  a  Monday  evening,  and  on  Tuesday 
morning  boast  to  his  business  friends  of  all 
the  birds'  nests  he  had  found.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  Peter  never  discovered  a  nest  except 
in  the  company  of  the  keeper's  urchin,  though 
it  was  scarcely  worth  while  to  mention  that. 
"  Come  down  with  me,  old  chap.  Take  a  run 
down  with  me  next  Saturday,  and  I  will  show 
you  round,"  he  would  say  to  one  after  another, 
in  the  exuberance  begotten  of  fresh  air,  and 
brought  back  from  the  open  fields.  One  after 
another  went  down.  Upon  the  reports  of  the 
wonders  that  he  had  to  show,  Peter  very  soon 
built  up  a  reputation  of  being  a  first-rate 
naturalist.  Everybody  said  it  was  a  marvel 
how  he  could  find  so  many  nests.  It  only 
showed  that  your  really  fine  man  of  business 
was  in  reality  a  many-sided  man.  Peter  drank 
in  this  appreciation  greedily,  and  felt  refreshed. 
Yet  in  moments  of  secret  self-examination  it 
troubled  him  to  reflect  that  he  had  never  dis- 
covered one  single  nest. 

"  Badgery  !  "  cried  his  partner  one  morning, 
"they  tell  me  you  are  a  perfect  genius  at 
bird-nesting.      I  never  saw  a  nest  in  my  life 


r42  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

except  a  pigeon's  in  Kensington  Gardens  and 
a  sparrow's  in  a  spout.  I'll  run  down  next 
week  and  take  a  walk  round  with  you.  They 
say  you  are  a  regular  squire  down  at  your 
place  there,  and  more  at  home  in  the  country 
than  if  you'd  been  a  yokel  all  your  life." 

Peter  was  delighted.  He  modestly  set 
aside  the  compliment,  but  admitted  that  he 
had  already  learnt  a  thing  or  two. 

They  ran  down  by  the  Saturday  afternoon 
express,  and  had  time  for  a  pleasant  walk  on 
a  beautiful  May  evening.  Knowing  that  he 
had  to  deal  with  a  real  Londoner,  Peter  was 
more  than  usually  instructive.  His  mind  be- 
came exceptionally  clear.  As  he  warmed  to 
his  subject,  all  the  learning  acquired  from 
numberless  Nature  articles  he  had  at  control. 
He  led  the  way  through  an  orchard,  and 
pointed  out  the  chaffinches'  nest  on  the  limb 
of  an  apple  tree.  He  showed  how  cunningly 
the  lichen  had  been  selected,  so  that  it  matched 
and  was  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
mosses  on  the  branch.  And  what  a  pattern 
of  neatness  !  They  stood  with  legs  apart  in 
suits  of  Donegal  tweed,  and  puffed  the  fra- 


FINDING  A  BIRD'S  NEST  143 

grance  of  Havannah,  while  they  meditated 
upon  the  transcendent  wonder  of  it. 

Presently  they  went  on  to  a  thorn  bush. 
"That's  a  long-tailed  tit's,"  whispered  Peter, 
"there,  in  the  shape  of  a  soda-water  bottle. 
Hush  !  She's  sitting.  That's  her  long  tail 
sticking  out  of  the  hole." 

The  partner  stooped  to  gaze  with  reverence 
at  the  tit's  tail. 

So  they  continued,  looking  in  upon  linnets 
in  the  clump  of  sweet-smelling  gorse,  and 
stopping  to  pay  a  hurried  call  upon  the 
blackbirds  behind  the  plashing  of  the  hedge- 
row bank.  At  last  they  wandered  on  into 
the  wood  and  down  the  ride  through  the 
coppice. 

"  Badgery,"  said  the  partner,  "  you  surprise 
me.  I  confess  it,  you  surprise  me.  I  have 
always  known  you  to  be  a  smart  fellow.  In 
my  opinion,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  express  it, 
you  are  the  finest  judge  of  a  hide  in  Tooley 
Street " 

Peter,  staring  up  into  a  bush,  suddenly 
uttered  an  ejaculation  of  delight. 

"  Great  Heavens  !  "  cried  he. 


144  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Yes,  you  are,  Badgery.  I  never  flatter. 
You  may  take  it  from  me.  But  I  never  dreamt 
this  of  you.  There  is  nothing — absolutely 
nothing — to  do  with  country  life  that  you  do 
not  know " 

Peter  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

Alone,  unaided,  all  by  himself,  he  had  just 
found  his  first  nest. 

"  Look  here  !  "  he  interrupted,  pointing  to  a 
hazel  bough.  "  There  !  There  is  a  nest — a 
new  nest.  I  mean  one  that  I  have  not  found 
before." 

And  sure  enough  there  it  was,  a  thrush's 
nest  of  fresh  green  moss,  but  placed  with  the 
utmost  candour  on  the  most  open  situation 
afforded  by  the  bush.  They  gazed  at  it  a 
while  in  silent  admiration. 

"  Now  that  bird,  if  I  may  put  it  this  way," 
said  Badgery's  partner  in  a  diffident  tone, 
knowing  himself  a  little  out  of  his  element, 
"  does  not  appear  to  me  to  have  chosen  so 
eligible  a  site — from  the  point  of  view  of  pri- 
vacy, I  mean — as  some  of  the  other " 

"Oh  well,  they  may  vary  a  little  when — 
when  sheltered  by  a  wood,"  explained  Peter. 


FINDING  A  BIRD'S  NEST  145 

"  But  it  looks  to  be  out  of  level — quite  as 
if  it  had  been  stuck  up  there." 

"  That's  the  wind  ;  but  it  must  be  all  right," 
cried  Peter,  raising  himself  on  tiptoe,  "because 
it  has  eggs,  quite  a  lot  of  eggs.  I'll  just  take 
them  out  to  show  you.  One  should  always 
be  very  gentle  in  dealing  with  a  nest.  Birds 
are  so  apt  to  forsake  it.  Great  Scot !  What 
the  devil !  There's  a  stoat,  or  a  rat,  or  a  squirrel 
got  hold  of  my  hand  !  I  can't  pull  it  out ! 
It's  a  badger — it  must  be,  for  they  bite  hard 
and  eat  eggs.  Oh,  the  deuce!  It's  got  my 
finger  through  to  the  bone,  with  teeth  like  an 
alligator.     Oh,  pull  it  down  !     Oh  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  Peter's  voice  there  came  a 
crackling  of  sticks  in  the  copse  as  some  one 
came  pushing  a  way  through  the  bushes. 

It  proved  to  be  Peter  Badgery's  keeper,  and 
he  ran  up  for  all  he  was  worth. 

"  Massy  'pon  us  !  Why,  here's  master  have 
a-catched  his  hand  in  the  gin  I  set  up  for 
a  jay.  I'm  blessed!  My  body  an'  soul! 
That  ever  anybeddy  should  ha'  thought  that 
wino-s  and  feathers  could  ha'  builded  in  a 
place  like  that !  " 


CHAPTER   XIV 

UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING 

"Uncle  Dick"  is  one  of  the  most  popular 
men  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Sutton.  His 
name  is  Richard  Tucker.  He  lives  at  Wyn- 
berry,  the  long,  low  homestead  near  to  the  mill, 
and  the  meadows  of  his  farm  lie  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  stream.  His  house  is  surrounded 
with  tall  trees,  and  an  avenue  of  ragged  firs 
shelters  the  lane  that  serves  as  an  approach  to 
it.  They  are  so  old,  weather-beaten,  and 
broken  that  the  very  rooks  have  forsaken 
them.  They  have  not,  however,  forsaken 
Uncle  Dick,  for  his  is  the  great  rookery  that 
greets  and  charms  the  arriving  stranger  to 
Sutton  with  such  a  welcome  of  cawing.  It 
not  only  surrounds  his  dwelling  but  has  sent 
out  colonies  to  occupy  the  distant  hedgerow 

trees  of  his  domain.     Nothing  therefore  can 

146 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        147 

be  superior  to  Uncle  Dick's  rook-shooting,  and 
it  is  justly  celebrated. 

The  Tuckers  are  an  ancient  family.  They 
have  existed  ever  since  woollen  cloth,  as  an 
article  of  clothing,  was  substituted  for  fig- 
leaves.  They  speak  of  themselves,  and  are 
spoken  of  in  Sutton,  as  "  a  good  family."  By 
this  phrase  they  have  no  intention  whatever 
of  claiming  a  gentility  which  they  do  not 
possess  ;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  Tucker  is  the 
earliest  name  recorded  in  the  Sutton  Register, 
and  it  has  provided  an  unbroken  succession 
of  baptisms  from  that  date.  The  Tuckers  are 
very  proud  of  this.  Not  only  is  there  no  gap, 
but  there  has  never  been  loitering.  More- 
over, the  way  has  been  enlivened  by  a  very 
creditable  sprinkling  of  twins. 

There  are  certain  other  no  less  admirable 
characteristics  which  all  Tuckers  are  in  the 
habit  of  claiming  for  their  race  :  "  A  Tucker 
may  be  a  bit  close-fisted  in  business,  but  is 
always  open-handed  in  his  house."  "  When 
a  Tucker  have  once  made  up  his  mind,  you 
may  just  so  well  try  to  turn  a  mad  bull."  "  A 
Tucker    do    wed    wonderful    young,    or    not 


i48  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

at  all."  "A  real  Tucker  is  ginger-headed 
and  bald  down  through  the  crown  by  forty." 
Should  any  individual  bearing  the  name  show 
a  variation  from  the  Tucker  standard,  this  is 
due  to  one  of  the  mothers  of  the  clan.  Thus, 
"  a  black  shock-head  of  hair  came  in  from  the 
Surridges,"  and  "  a  slight  cast  in  the  eye,  some- 
times to  be  found,  was  brought  in  by  one 
Jane  Tapp." 

"Uncle  Dick"  is  a  perfect  Tucker.  A 
bachelor,  middle-aged,  middle  height,  sharp 
at  a  deal  and  free  of  his  hospitality,  he  enjoys 
a  pink  and  shining  baldness  of  which  any 
Tucker  might  be  proud.  He  is  long  in  the 
body  and  large  in  the  girth.  He  is  short  in 
the  leg.  And  these  features  are  accentuated 
by  the  tailed  coat  sloping  away  over  a  sprig 
waistcoat  and  held  by  a  row  of  three  buttons 
close  under  a  white  cravat  pinned  with  a  fox's 
tooth.  Uncle  Dick  has  certainly  a  horsy 
appearance.  But  he  does  a  little  dealing  both 
in  horseflesh  and  stock.  If  you  hear  wheels 
and  a  fast-trotting  horse  pass  the  street  of 
an  early  morning  before  Sutton  is  astir,  that 
is    Uncle    Dick  catching   an  early  train  for 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        149 

some  distant  market.  If  you  hear  it  after 
dark,  that  is  Uncle  Dick  driving  home  from 
fair.  Wherever  he  goes  he  both  carries 
mirth  and  makes  money,  you  may  be  sure. 
Thanks  to  the  Tucker  proclivity  no  man  on 
earth  is  more  an  uncle  than  "  Uncle  Dick  "  ; 
yet  this  is  merely  a  market  nickname  used 
by  all,  a  title  of  goodwill  begotten  of  a 
truly  genial  disposition.  He  is  a  tender- 
hearted man.  You  should  see  his  pained 
expression  when  somebody  underbids  him  for 
a  horse  he  has  to  sell.  There  is  pity  in  it 
too. 

Uncle  Dick's  hospitable  bachelorship  is 
made  possible  by  a  housekeeper.  The  lady 
who  presides  at  his  feasts  is  a  distant  relative, 
and  much  is  the  banter  that  Uncle  Dick  has  to 
endure  by  reason  of  her  presence.  Friends 
solemnly  warn  him  that  he  will  get  nabbed 
some  day.  Some  urge  him  to  matrimony  as 
a  sacrificial  duty  owing  to  the  devotion  of 
"poor  Miss  Eliza."  Others  declare  that 
"  poor  Miss  Eliza "  will  not  link  herself  to 
such  a  reprobate.  Uncle  Dick  only  throws 
back  his  head  and  laughs.     There  is  some- 


150  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

thing  very  comic  in  associating  the  idea  of 
marriage  with  "poor  Miss  Eliza." 

The  good  things  of  this  life  have  not  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  "poor  Miss  Eliza."  And  yet, 
who  can  tell,  for  her  wry  little  face  looks 
always  bright  and  happy.  Her  relatives  all 
say  that  she  is  lucky  to  have  a  home  with 
Uncle  Dick,  because,  vou  see,  she  has  eot 
nothing.  Her  father  had  nothing  before  her. 
He  emigrated  to  Australia  with  his  grrowinor 
family,  when  little  Eliza  was  a  mere  slip  of  a 
girl.  She  was  so  small  for  her  age  they  thought 
it  folly  to  take  her.  She  went  to  live  with  her 
maiden  aunt,  who  taught  her,  and  drilled  her, 
and  made  a  little  slave  of  her  without  either 
of  them  ever  suspecting  it.  It  was,  "  Now, 
Eliza!"  all  day  long.  "Now,  Eliza,  you 
must  learn  all  you  can,  because,  you  see, 
you've  a-got  nothing."  "  Now,  Eliza,  you 
mustn't  sit  still.  Fetch  your  needlework. 
You  can't  afford  to  form  idle  habits,  you 
know,  because  you've  a-got  nothing."  Poor 
Miss  Eliza  blesses  the  memory  of  that  maiden 
aunt,  and  will  bless  it  for  ever.  When  that 
kindest   of    relatives    was    taken    suddenly, 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        151 

"and  no  great  age  either,"  as  all  the  neigh- 
bours reflected,  the  poor  girl  felt  homeless  and 
utterly  alone.  She  had  little  time  to  grieve. 
Her  relatives  all  said,  "Come,  Eliza,  you 
must  find  something,  you  know.  You  really 
can't  bide  about  to  pick  and  choose.  For 
why,  'tis  a  pity,  but,  except  what  you  do  stand 
up  in,  you've  a-got  nothing."  Poor  Miss 
Eliza  has  never  possessed  more,  yet  some- 
thing has  always  been  found  at  the  moment 
it  was  wanted.  After  varying  fortunes  she 
settled  down  many  years  ago  to  keep  house 
for  Uncle  Dick. 

There  are  quite  a  score  of  younger  Tuckers 
eligible  for  the  post.  Uncle  Dick  is  a  sly 
humorist,  with  failings  of  his  own  and  a 
quick  insight  into  the  weaknesses  of  others. 
He  loves  to  praise  Miss  Eliza  behind  her 
back.  He  says,  "There!  Eliza  is  a  jewel. 
Small  she  mid  be — but  so  jewels  be.  I  shall 
see  to  it,  if  anything  should  happen,  Eliza 
shall  never  want."  Yet  nearer  relatives  agree 
with  him,  "That  is  nothing-  but  right."  In 
discussing  Eliza,  they  assure  themselves  that, 
in  the  course  of  nature,  she  ought,  please  God, 


152  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

certainly  to  take  precedence  of  Uncle  Dick. 
And  yet  they  repose  confidence  in  her  integ- 
rity, and  add,  "  But  mind,  Eliza,  though  so 
small,  have  a-got  a  real  Tucker  heart.  Any- 
body could  trust  Eliza.  Tucker  money  leave 
she  would  to  Tucker  kin." 

Poor  Miss  Eliza  has  grey  hair  and  has  come 
to  the  time  of  caps.  She  is  at  least  ten  years 
older  than  Uncle  Dick.  She  is  cheerful  and 
active  as  a  little  bird.  On  Sundays,  through- 
out the  summer  and  on  festivals,  commencing 
with  the  rook-shooting,  she  wears  a  drab-grey 
gown,  carefully  saved  through  many  years. 
There  have  been  no  incidents  in  her  little  life. 
No  man  has  ever  looked  upon  her  with  the 
eyes  of  love.  If  she  has  ever  hoped  or  loved 
it  is  a  secret  that  will  never  be  told.  She  has 
just  gone  on  day  by  day  performing  house- 
hold duties  with  all  her  might. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  how  many  guests 
there  will  be  at  any  of  Uncle  Dick's  festivi- 
ties. He  has  a  way  of  picking  some  up 
on  the  high  roads  and  bringing  them  in  at 
the  last  moment.  He  was  driving  down  the 
street,  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  just  as  the 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        153 

red  mail-cart  was  drawing  up  before  the  door 
of  the  post  office.  His  invitations  come  as  a 
whirlwind  and  the  guest  is  carried  away. 
"  Hullo!  Whoa!  Here!  Look  here!  I'm 
killing  a  few  rooks  this  afternoon.  Come 
on  down.  Whoa,  will  ee !  Yes,  you  will. 
Kill  a  few  rooks — bit  o'  cold  supper — game 
o'  nap — drop  o'  hot  grog.  Hop  up.  Whoa, 
you  fool.  The  mare  do  know  when  I 
be  in  a  hurry.  Come  on.  She  won't 
stop." 

Gunners  were  already  there  when  we 
arrived.  For  although  the  shooting  does  not 
begin  until  evening,  there  is  tea.  And  what 
a  tea  at  Wynberry  !  Seventeen  sat  round  the 
table  and  ate  and  praised  the  fare.  Never 
was  bread  so  wafer-thin,  or  butter  so  shining 
and  smooth,  as  when  Miss  Eliza  held  a  loaf 
of  her  own  baking  to  her  bosom  and  worked 
the  knife  through  the  bottom  crust.  There 
were  hot  cakes  bearing  the  mark  of  the  grid- 
iron that  Miss  Eliza  remembered  how  to  make 
from  her  youth.  There  was  a  flavour  about 
the  honey  that  made  some  folk  declare  that 
Miss  Eliza  must  plant  some  particular  kind 


154  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

of  flower,  not  far  from  the  bee-butts,  with  a 
name  that  she  kept  to  herself. 

"And  how  do  your  bees  work  this  spring, 
Miss  Eliza  ? " 

"  Wonderful  busy,  thank  you.  There ! 
Really,  anybody  to  find  fault  must  be  hard  to 
please." 

There  were  eggs,  too — hen-eggs  and  duck- 
eggs — for  it  is  characteristic  of  a  Tucker  con- 
stitution that  it  wants  keeping  up.  And  after 
all,  what  is  a  matter  of  two  or  three  little 
hen-eggs  and  a  duck-egg  with  your  tea  ? 
Why,  nothing. 

"  An'  how  do  your  fowls  lay  to  year,  Miss 
Eliza!" 

"  Why,  capical  well,  thank  you.  Now, 
wouldn'  anybody  like  a  slice  or  two  o'  ham 
to  their  egg  ?  For  'tis  long  to  supper,  mind 
that." 

The  shooting  was  the  mere  slaughter  that 
it  always  is. 

Every  sportsman  began  by  loudly  asserting 
the  absurdity  of  knocking  down  perchers. 

"  What  skill  is  there  ?  WThat  fun  can 
there  be  in  shooting  at  a  bird  sitting  up  to 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        155 

have  his  portograph  taken?"  asked  Uncle 
Dick. 

To  a  proposition  so  obvious  every  one  of 
his  friends  and  relations  replied,  "  None  in 
this  world." 

Nobody  held  this  view  more  soundly  than 
John  Batch,  a  second  cousin  once  removed  to 
Uncle  Dick,  who,  although  only  a  connection 
by  marriage,  felt  more  strongly  on  this  matter 
than  any  Tucker,  and  declared  loudly  that  to 
his  mind  so  to  do  was  little  short  of  downright 
murder. 

"Then  here  goes,"  cried  Uncle  Dick,  and 
raising  his  gun  brought  down  in  fine  style  a 
first-class  flyer  that  had  taken  to  the  open  air. 

At  once  followed  a  shouting  and  a  clapping 
of  hands.  The  old  rooks  rose  high  in  the  sky 
and  circled  above  the  trees  with  incessant 
cawing. 

The  fusillade  began. 

Victims  fell  on  all  sides. 

The  Widow  Teape's  "  Urchett,"  now  in 
the  employ  of  Uncle  Dick,  enjoyed  himself 
hugely  in  pulling  off  their  heads. 

Then  came  temptation.     Flyers  began  to 


156  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

be  scarce.  High  up  on  some  twig  in  a  gap 
amongst  the  bright  green  leaves  the  black 
form  of  a  percher  stood  out  against  the  soft 
evening  sky.  The  over-confidence  of  one  so 
young  seemed  really  to  be  begging  to  be 
taught  a  lesson.  Just  that  one  !  "  Now,  he 
really  do  ask  for  it,"  cried  Uncle  Dick — and 
fell.     So  did  the  rook. 

After  so  bad  an  example  there  was  no  safety 
for  perchers.  The  only  chance  for  the  rising 
generation  was  in  bold  enterprise.  But 
parties  had  gone  out  on  expeditions  and 
awaited  the  fluttering  arrival  of  wanderers  to 
distant  trees.  One  only  of  all  Uncle  Dick's 
party  kept  his  word  to  abstain  from  shooting 
perchers.  John  Batch  is  a  tall,  lean  man  of 
middle  age  and  bilious  temperament,  with 
straight  hair  and  a  thin,  long  beard.  His 
fowling-piece  is  of  an  ancient  pattern,  and 
when  he  holds  it  to  his  shoulder  he  is  unstable 
on  his  legs.  He  appears  to  sway  with  excite- 
ment, and  five  minutes  or  so  of  uncertain  aim 
usually  precedes  the  explosion.  He  spent 
an  unsuccessful  evening,  wooing  a  solitary 
percher — and  it  proved  a  flyer  after  all. 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        157 

At  last  came  dusk  and  the  hour  of  supper. 

Poor  Miss  Eliza  had  got  everything  ready. 
Anxious,  yet  smiling,  she  was  taking  a  last 
glance  at  the  table  when  the  guests  came 
tumbling  in.  Miss  Eliza  did  not  sit  down  to 
table  that  evening.  Seventeen  of  them,  all 
men — there  was  so  much  to  do,  and  so  many 
little  things  to  see  to.  She  moved  around 
and  gave  directions  to  the  maid.  She  had 
an  eye  to  everybody's  wants.  It  was  good 
manners  as  well  as  "  nothing-  but  truth"  to 
praise  the  poultry  of  her  rearing,  the  ham  of 
her  curing,  the  salad  of  her  mixing,  and  the 
pastry  of  her  making.  Poor  Miss  Eliza  was 
very  happy  in  the  midst  of  her  activity,  and 
conscious  that  all  was  well. 

Supper  finished,  Uncle  Dick  raised  hisvoice. 

"  Come  on,  all  o'  ee.  Let's  go  up  in  tother 
room." 

He  was  all  haste  and  impatience,  for  Uncle 
Dick  dearly  loves  a  game  of  nap,  and  carries 
always  a  pack  of  cards  in  his  pocket  ready  to 
play  when  he  travels  by  train.  How  some 
people  sit  still  and  do  nothing  to  occupy  the 
mind  is  a  puzzle  to  him. 


158  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Come  on,  I  say.  Here  !  I'll  lead  the 
way.     Mind  the  steps." 

The  room  was  ready.  A  fire  burning  in 
the  grate,  a  kettle  steaming  on  the  hob, 
decanters,  glasses,  and  sugar  close  at  hand  ; 
for  many  Tuckers  are  still  in  the  hot  gin- 
and-water  era  which  preceded  the  soda-water 
age.  There  were  four  tables  set  out  for 
cards. 

"Come  on,  all  o'  ee.  Sort  yourselves  up. 
Come,  Eliza." 

But  Eliza  replied  that  she  would  look  on. 
I  was  of  one  mind  with  her.  Uncle  Dick  was 
in  too  great  haste  to  argue,  since  there  were 
four,  a  comfortable  number,  for  each  table. 
All  danger  of  thirst  having  been  for  the  present 
provided  against,  I  sat  on  a  sofa  beside  poor 
Miss  Eliza  and  talked  to  her. 

"  You  are  not  fond  of  cards  ?  " 

Her  small  pinched  face  is  redeemed  by 
large  dark  eyes,  so  expressive  when  she 
speaks  that  they  tell  you  more  than  the  mere 
words. 

They  lighted  up  with  mirth.  "  No  money 
to  lose,"  laughed  she. 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        159 

"  But  you  might  win." 

The  eyes  became  serious.  "  No  wish  to 
win,"  said  she. 

"  What  is  your  choice  for  a  recreation  ?  " 

11  Oh,  I  don't  know.  There  be  so  many 
little  things  to  see  to  all  the  day  through. 
'Tis  a'most  a  job  to  find  time  for  all.  Verily 
and  truly  'tis  then.  So  then,  if  should  come 
a  quiet  hour  of  an  evening,  I  do  dearly  love 
to  sit  down  an'  work." 

"  You  don't  care  much  for  reading  ?  " 

The  eyes  brightened  at  once.  "  Oh,  but  I 
do  though,"  she  cried  with  enthusiasm.  "  I 
never  could  miss  a  chance  to  read  for  half  an 
hour  or  more  of  a  Sunday  afternoon — not  in 
all  my  life.  I  was  always  most  terrible  fond 
o'  reading.  I  never  could  see  that  'twas  time 
a-lost  to  read.  Why  it  must  gie  a  body  some- 
thing to  think  about  in  your  work,  all  the 
week  through.     Now,  isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"  It  must,"  I  agreed. 

It  was  clear  that  poor  Miss  Eliza  was  a  real 
reader,  who  would  get  all  the  good  possible 
from  her  intellectual  victuals,  and  suffer  no 
mental  dyspepsia  either  from  hasty  reading  or 


160  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

overloading  her  mind.  It  seemed  absurd  to 
inquire  who  might  be  her  favourite  author. 

"  What  book  do  you  like  best  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  hesitated.  Her  pale  cheeks  reddened. 
Her  eyes  glanced  at  the  card-players  as  if 
fearing  to  be  overheard,  then  became  intent 
upon  her  needlework.  We  were  almost 
strangers,  and  she  dared  not  speak  the  word 
that  came  into  her  mind.  She  suddenly  re- 
covered, and  looked  up  with  her  usual  frank 
simplicity. 

"  For  reading  for  pleasure  " — from  her  tone 
it  appeared  that  she  meant  for  lighter  reading 
— "  The  Pilgrims  Progress.  It  is  so  clear 
and  so  interesting." 

All  the  while  from  the  tables  before  us  had 
come  a  constant  "  chackle "  of  voices  and 
laughter,  shouts  of  triumph  and  good-natured 
jeers.  When  Uncle  Dick  called  nap,  he 
announced  it  with  a  prolonged  view-halloo 
from  the  very  bottom  of  his  lungs.  When  he 
went  down,  he  shouted  "  Poor  Richard ! 
Poor  Richard  !  In  ditch  again."  The  room 
was  noisier  than  the  rook-shooting.  And 
suddenly  an    altercation  arose.      Long  John 


UNCLE  DICK'S  ROOK-SHOOTING        161 

Batch  angrily  seized  a  handful  of  cards  and 
threw  them  down  upon  the  table. 

"He  never  ought  to  ha'  made  it.  Not  if 
young  Miller  Toop  had  played  his  highest 
trump.  Nap  is  no  game — no  game  at  all — 
if  but  one  player  is  a  noghead  fool." 

The  young  miller  looked  perplexed,  and 
pulled  his  weak  moustache.  "  But  I  don't 
see  what " 

"A  noghead  can't  see." 

"  But  just  listen  a " 

"  I  won't  listen  to  a  noghead." 

.<  But  if  I " 


"  Ah  !  'Tis  all  ifs  and  buts  wi'  a  nonhead." 
And  long  John  Batch  rose  from  his  seat. 

"Sit  yourself  down,  you  fool,"  said  Uncle 
Dick.  "  Why,  Miller  hadn't  a-got  a  trump  in 
his  hand." 

They  placed  out  the  cards  and  proved  it 
unanimously,  but  with  many  words. 

Long  John  Batch,  discomfited,  sat  down 
again. 

"  Come,  Eliza.  Fill  up  his  glass.  He  can't 
see,"  cried  Uncle  Dick. 

There  was  no  more  talk  with  poor  Miss 


1 62  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Eliza,  who  had  so  very  many  things  to  do. 
When  I  presently  left  Uncle  Dick's  rook- 
shooting  party  the  night  was  still.  Stars  were 
shining  above  the  trees  and  over  the  church 
tower.     All  the  village  was  asleep. 

Thoughts  of  poor  Miss  Eliza  occupied  my 
mind — so  oddly  made  in  stature — so  simple, 
capable,  contented — yet  with  nothing 

Is  it  certain  that  poor  Miss  Eliza  has 
nothing  ? 

Are  there  not  some  who,  without  know- 
ledge, possess  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  in 
their  hearts  ? 


CHAPTER   XV 

MRS.  DARK'S  DAIRY 

"  Come  in,"  cried  Dairyman.      "  Now  do  step 
in  to  dairy  and  see  Mrs.  Dark." 

We  were  on  the  north  side  of  Dairyman's 
homestead,  where  the  roof  slopes  down  from 
the  main  ridge,  bringing  the  eaves  within  easy 
reach  of  hand.  Beyond  the  narrow  shadow 
of  the  house  a  June  sun  shone  its  warmest 
on  the  paved  yard,  the  low  wall,  the  kitchen 
garden  beyond,  where  potatoes  neatly  hoed, 
and  ranks  of  peas  in  white  flower  and  young 
flat  pod,  and  sweet-smelling  broad  beans  with 
blotches  on  their  petals  lay  east  and  west 
along  a  sunny  slope.  By  the  wicket  gate, 
where  the  milkers'  was^on  comes  morning- 
and  night,  is  the  branching  trunk  on  which 
the     silvery     milk-pails     hang     and     glisten 

throughout  the  day  between  milking  hours. 

163 


1 64  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Spreading  over  the  wall  and  almost  over- 
hanging the  pump  is  an  ancient  barberry 
bush.  Its  boughs  were  sprinkled  with  clus- 
ters of  yellow  blossom. 

At  the  sound  of  voices  the  door  was  opened. 

"  Sure  then,  here  is  Mrs.  Dark,"  said 
Dairyman. 

The  respectful  and  subdued  manner  in 
which  Dairyman  whispers  the  name  of  his 
better  half  is  a  tribute  to  her  great  talents  as 
a  cheese-maker.  All  the  success  of  a  dairy- 
man depends  upon  the  skill  of  his  wife.  He, 
with  the  aid  of  the  cows,  may  provide  the 
milk,  but  she  produces  "the  goods."  The 
price  depends  on  the  quality.  The  quality 
seems  to  result  from  certain  innate  virtues 
— cleanliness,  industry,  and  a  conscientious 
sense  of  duty  to  the  curd.  The  curd  is  more 
susceptible  to  neglect  than  an  elderly  maiden 
aunt  of  moderate  fortune,  surrounded  by  a 
large  family  circle. 

Framed  in  the  doorway  Mrs.  Dark  was  a 
picture  of  simple  respectability.  Her  print 
frock  was  covered  in  front  from  neck  to  skirt 
with  a  blue  pinafore  now  faded  and  pale  after 


MRS.  DARK'S  DAIRY  165 

many  visits  to  the  wash-tub.  Both  summer 
and  winter  when  eng-ao-ed  in  her  cheese- 
making  Mrs.  Dark  assumes  an  old-fashioned 
sun-bonnet  with  a  deep  curtain  reaching  below 
the  "  top-strings  o'  the  pinny."  She  is  the 
most  contented-looking  person  alive — such  a 
"wonderful  fresh  complexion,"  although  the 
mother  of  such  a  family  of  maidens.  No 
lines,  no  wrinkles,  and  never  so  much  as  a 
crease  if  it  were  not  for  the  duplication,  ay, 
the  triplication  of  her  chin.  Mrs.  Dark  is 
tall  and  stout — yet  not  too  stout.  Mrs. 
Josiah  Heppell  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  to 
a  T  when  she  once  described  her  to  me  as 
"a  terr'ble  portly  lady." 

"  Look  here,  then,  Mrs.  Dark.  Here's  a 
visitor,  Mrs.  Dark.  He  do  want  to  larn  to 
make  cheeses,  Mrs.  Dark." 

Mrs.  Dark's  portliness  displayed  no  terrors 
that  June  morning.  Her  black  brows,  now 
slightly  grizzled,  lifted  into  broad-span  arches, 
and  her  mouth  assumed  the  shape  of  a  butter 
boat  that  has  lost  its  handle,  as,  with  hands 
crossed  on  her  maternal  bosom,  and  her  head 
on  one  side,  she  simpered — 


166  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"Master  must  have  his  joke,  to  be  sure. 
One  o'  they  gentlemen,  maybe,  what  do  come 
around  to  larn  we." 

Over  each  shoulder,  but  dim  in  the  back- 
ground, I  could  see  the  rosy  face  of  one  of 
Dairyman's  maidens  peering  to  discover  who 
the  visitor  might  be. 

I  disclaimed  official  rank. 

"  Do  ee  please  to  step  in." 

One  of  the  maidens  had  vanished.  The 
other,  standing  by  the  great  tin  cheese-tub, 
evenly  stirred  with  a  sort  of  open-work 
shovel  called  "a  breaker"  the  fragments  of 
curd  that  floated  in  the  whey.  Mrs.  Dark 
pinched  the  curd  between  her  finger  and 
thumb.  "  Let  be,  Tilly,"  said  she  with 
decision.  The  maiden  ceased  to  stir  and 
the  curd  was  left  to  settle  upon  the  bottom 
of  the  tub. 

"  That's  the  heater  an'  that's  the  cooler, 
an'  there's  the  vats  wi'  yesterday's  cheese 
and  the  day's  afore  to  be  pressed.  But  la  ! 
I  ben't  no  talker.  I  be  a  doer.  If  you  do 
want  to  hear  about  the  cheese-maken  you 
should  talk  to  our  Ursie  up  to  Squire's  new 


MRS.  DARK'S  DAIRY  167 

dairy.  She  do  know  the  rights  o'  it  an'  the 
why  an'  the  why  not.  I  can't  larn  no  new- 
fangled ways.  I've  a-got  nothen  agen  'em, 
but  I  can't.  I  do  say  'tis  all  experience. 
I've  a-got  my  own  ways,  to  be  sure — that 
is,  part  my  mother  taught  an'  part  my  own. 
I  do  go  by  the  feel,  an'  the  taste,  an'  the 
smell  o'  it — all  by  experience.  These  new 
things  do  but  puzzle  an'  dather  a  body. 
When  I've  a-got  the  last  night's  milk  and 
to-day  marnen's  milk  in  tub,  an'  have  a-put 
in  the  rennet,  an'  have  a-stirred  it  about,  I 
do  put  the  bowl  dish  afloat,  an'  so  soon  as 
he'll  lift  out  clean  the  curd  is  proper  a-set. 
Then  we  do  cut  the  curd  and  break  it,  and 
treat  it  gentle,  mind,  an'  let  it  rest  for  the 
whey  to  rise — all  experience,  you  see — an'  lift 
some  whey  into  the  heater  to  get  ready  for  the 
scald.  Now  we  do  use  a  what-ee-call — what 
is  it,  Tilly?" 

"A  thermometer,  mother." 

"To  be  sure,  a  therboliter,  there,  I  never 
could  mind  the  word — poor  mother,  to  tell 
the  heat,  she  did  just  dip  in  the  crook 
of  her    elbow,    all    experience,     you    know ; 


168  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

but  we,  well,  late  years  we  do  use  a 
therboliter,  yes,  we  do.  Our  Ursie  could 
tell  ee  the  why,  though  she  hain't  got  no 
experience,  mind,  an'  take  away  her  ther- 
boliter, her  elbow  isn't  one  mossel  o'  good 
to  her.  Well,  then,  to  draw  off  the  whey  I 
do  go  by  the  touch,  an'  the  feel — all  ex- 
perience— an'  squeeze  out  a  bit  o'  curd  to  lay 
to  a  bit  o'  hot  iron,  only  the  iron  mustn't  be 
too  hot  neet  too  cold,  but  just  right — all  by 
experience  like — an'  if  'tis  right  the  curd 
do  come  away  stringy.  But  la,  there !  I 
ben't  no  talker  like.  If  'twere  our  Ursie, 
now,  her  tongue  'ud  run  on  like  a  house 
afire,  for  she  must  tell  ee  all  she  do  know. 
But  when  I've  a-heaped  up  the  curd  in  tub, 
and  drawed  the  whey,  well,  by  that  time  the 
curd  do  cling  together  and  I  do  cut  it  into 
squares,  say  up  a  foot  four-square,  an'  cover 
it  wi'  a  cloth.  Well,  then,  I  do  do  as  I  do 
think — all  experience,  you  see — and  put  it 
away  into  the  cooler,  an'  there  I  do  put  it 
under  a  pan  wi'  a  half-hundredweight  'pon  top, 
an'  turn  it,  an'  break  it,  an'  put  it  again  till 
do  come  to  grind.     Now  there  I   do  go  by 


SUTTON 
From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


MRS.  DARK'S  DAIRY  169 

taste,  all  experience,  you  see.  An'  when  'tis 
fit  I  do  grind  it  in  the  mill  there,  an'  spread 
it,  an'  cover  it  with  clothes,  an'  come  back 
an'  salt  it.  An'  if  'tis  too  soft,  let  it  bide  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  all  experience, 
mind  ;  an'  if  'tis  hard,  vat  it  to  once,  all 
experience,  and  not  put  on  the  weight  just 
at  first  going  off,  but  what  your  experience 
do  tell  ee.  Now,  our  Ursie,  now,  she  don't 
know  so  wonderful  much  of  her  own  self  like, 
for,  you  see,  she  didn'  bide  home  so  wonder- 
ful much,  an'  I  never  larned  her.  She  do 
go  by  a  what-ee-call — what  do  she  call  it, 
Tilly?" 

"An  acidimeter,  mother." 

"  That's  right,  a  scimitar  ;  an'  she've  a-got 
a  thingumbob — what's  the  name  o'  it,  Tilly  ?  " 

"A  pipette,  mother." 

"That's  it,  a  pipe  it,  to  suck  it  up  like,  an' 
mix  stuff  up  to  make  a  whity-pink  mixture, 
much  like  the  physic  the  old  Dr.  Thwaite  did 
send  for  spasms  years  agone,  an'  hundreds  o' 
bottles  I've  a-tookt,  wi'  such  a  pressure  here 
to  the  heart  o'  me  for  up  two  year,  but  better 
now,  for  it  left  quite  sudden,  an'  let's  hope  not 


170  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

to  return.  Now  that's  all  I  can  say.  To  be 
sure,  if  I  could  talk  I  could  tell  ee.  Now,  our 
Ursie,  now,  she'll  talk.  You  go  up  an'  see 
she.  But  this  I  must  say,  our  Ursie  is  so 
good  a  maid  as  ever  wore  shoe-leather,  an' 
a  maid  o'  high  principle  too,  an'  a  goodish- 
looking  maid  for  all  that,  but  experience 
she  can't  have,  an'  what's  more  haint  a-got, 
for  she  is  but  in  her  one-an'-twenty,  so  how 
can  she  ?  An'  if  she  should  chance  to  break 
the  what-ee-call,  or  to  let  fall  the  thingumbob 
an'  can't  pipe  it,  what  is  she  to  do  ?  But  I 
must  get  on.  There,  I  be  no  talker.  Now,  our 
Ursie  have  a-got  a  little  red  rag — that  is  to 
say  her  tongue,  you  understand  me — is  never 
at  rest.  Where  she  got  it  from  is  a  wonder 
an'  a  mystery  to  all  o'  us,  for  master  here, 
though  merry  enough  in  his  heart  like,  'ull 
often  bide  a  hour  at  a  stretch  so  silent  as  a 
mute.  An'  now  master  'ull  show  ee  the 
cheese-room,  for  I  mus'  go  on  to  draw  the 
whey." 

Dairyman  showed  me  the  cheese-room  with 
"the  goods"  arranged  all  round  to  ripen. 
He  explained  how  they  must  be  turned  daily, 


MRS.  DARK'S  DAIRY  171 

and  he  estimated  the  weight  of  some  of  the 
largest. 

"  Mrs.  Dark  is  a  wonderful  cheese-maker," 
said  he  with  some  solemnity.  "  I've  a-been 
blessed  in  a  wife,  sure  'nough — though  I  do 
say  it  my  own  self! " 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW 

Phil  Davy  is  his  name,  but  the  well-to-do  ot 
Sutton,  when  speaking  of  him,  always  add — 
"a  idle,  mouching  fellow." 

His  occupation  is  a  mystery,  for  he  rarely 
appears  to  be  doing  anything.  His  father 
was  a  rat-catcher  in  the  days  when  rat-catching 
was  a  very  paying  business,  and  he  got 
together  a  field  or  two  of  his  own.  But  rat- 
catching  as  a  profession  went  out  of  date  when 
the  pits  were  abolished.  Now  that  the  corn 
remains  so  brief  a  time  in  the  mow  and  hardly 
enters  the  granary,  farmers  destroy  their  own 
rats,  after  a  fashion,  when  they  find  them  a 
nuisance  about  the  house  or  the  piggeries. 
Sometimes  Phil  does  a  bit  of  mole-catching. 
But  the  labourers  generally  do  that  for  a  fee, 
and  hang  their  victims  up  on  a  thorn  bush  by 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        173 

the  gate  to  be  counted.  Keepers  suspect  Phil. 
Farmers  do  not  care  to  see  him  on  their 
ground — "a  idle,  mouching  fellow." 

The  fact  is  Phil  Davy  knows  too  much. 
They  say  he  can  charm  rats  and  lead  them 
about  like  the  pied  piper.  No  doubt  he  can. 
All  the  old  rat-catchers  knew  that  trick  and 
used  it  to  their  advantage.  People  who  did 
not  hire  them  were  always  rich  in  rats.  They 
used  to  put  a  few  drops  of  oil  of  rhodium  on 
a  pair  of  felt  slippers  large  enough  to  go  over 
their  boots,  and  walk  of  a  night  from  a  place 
where  rats  were  plentiful  to  any  homestead 
that  did  not  find  employment.  Every  rat  that 
got  wind  of  the  track  would  follow  it.  The 
man  merely  took  off  his  slippers  and  went 
home  to  bed.  Phil  will  get  a  dozen  of  live 
rats  now,  on  the  sly,  for  anybody  who  wants 
to  train  a  young  terrier  ;  or  supply  a  badger, 
or  a  hedgehog,  or  a  bottle  of  adder's  fat. 
When  the  scarcity  of  hares  is  remarked  upon, 
people  always  mention  Phil  Davy,  "a  idle, 
mouching  fellow." 

Yet  Phil  is  an  interesting  man.  He  knows 
the   habits  of  the   wild  living   things  of  his 


i74  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

countryside  and  where  they  are  to  be  found. 
It  may  be  that  he  is  a  potential  naturalist,  or 
perhaps  only  a  primitive  man  cast  by  chance 
into  this  twentieth  century. 

The  first  time  he  spoke  to  me  was  at  the 
corner  by  the  old  disused  village  pound.  He 
appeared  to  be  lying  in  wait,  for  he  loafed 
forward  and  asked  in  a  mysterious  voice, 
"  Would  ee  like  a  few  peewit's  eggs  ?  All 
fresh.      I'll  warrant  'em." 

Since  then  we  have  frequently  conversed. 
Phil  has  been  a  great  observer,  and  there  is 
no  item  of  rural  natural  history  sufficiently 
erroneous  to  have  escaped  his  experience. 
He  will  lie  without  a  shiver,  yet  he  always 
observes  a  beautiful  moderation  in  his  false- 
hoods. The  rarer  wonders  of  Nature  he  has 
seen  only  once. 

"Hullo!  There's  the  cuckoo  back.  I 
wonder  where  he  has  been  all  the  winter  ?  " 

"Changed  into  a  little  blue  hawk,"  said 
Phil  with  confidence. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I've  a-seed  it.  Had  the  hawk  in  my 
hand." 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        175 

"  But  if  it  was  a  hawk  how  did  you  know  it 
was  a  cuckoo  ?  " 

"  Hadn'  had  time  to  change.  Just  pa'tridge 
shooting-time.  Had  some  cuckoo  feathers  on 
his  breast.  There  !  Somebody  did  ought  to 
ha'  had  un  stuffed.  I've  never  met  wi'  it  but 
that  once." 

"You  used  to  catch  adders,  did  you  not?" 
"  Hundreds.     Thousands.     Had  a  order  to 
send  'em  to  London." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  one  swallow  its  young  ?  " 
"  I  have.     She  opened  her  mouth,  an'  the 
young  uns  all  run  down  like  young  rabbits 
into  a  hole.     But  I've  never  seen  that  but  once. 
They  do  know  when  you  be  about  an'  do  it 
quick.      Never  in  all  these  years  but  once." 
"  Some  people  say  they  can  jump." 
"  I've    a-seed    that,    often    an'    often — but 
only  just  say  a  foot  maybe,  an'  scarce  leave 
the  ground.      Mostly  they  be  asleep,  or  do  try 
to  get  away.      But  once  I  had  one  jump  bang 
at  me,  ay,  ten  foot  an'  so  high  as  a  man's  head. 
But  never  but  once.      Never  afore  nor  since. 
No.     Never  but  that  once." 

It  was  a  perfect  morning  after  a  warm  rain, 


176  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  the  passing  sunlit  clouds  were  so  thin  that 
a  light  transparent  shadow  alternated  with  the 
clear  sunshine.     At  breakfast-time  I  stood  in 
my  window,  admiring  a  most  successful  patch 
laid  on  a  wader  by  lamplight  overnight,  when 
Phil  Davy  went  sauntering  down  the  street, 
in  the  old  fustian  jacket  that  must  have  been 
his  father's,  and  followed  by  the  mongrel  bitch 
that  never  wandered  three  feet  from  his  heel. 
I  ate  my  meal,  arranged  my  lunch,  attired 
myself  for  the  water,  and  strolled  towards  the 
river.      It    has  been    said  that  water    is  the 
making  of  a  landscape.     A   trout-stream  in 
spring-time  is  certainly  the  crowning  charm  of 
a  country  life.     The  river  at  Sutton  is  one  of 
the  most  delightful  of  its  kind.      Sometimes 
rapid,    sometimes   sleeping   in    long,  smooth 
reaches,  between  the  bridge  where  the  streams 
meet  below  the  mill,  and  the  level  where  it 
winds  and  twists  within  sight  of  the  withy- 
beds,  there  is  no  spot  that  is  not  beautiful.     It 
sighs  amongst  rushes,  laughs  its  way  through 
the  meadows,  and  hides  its  face  in  the  woods. 
And  at  frequent  distances  there  are   notice- 
boards —  This  Fishing  is  Preserved. 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        177 

Phil  Davy  was  leaning  with  his  arms  upon 
the  low  wall  of  a  stone  bridge  with  buttresses 
between  the  arches,  pointed  to  cut  the  stream. 
He  had  been  there  for  an  hour  at  least,  looking 
down  at  the  clear,  rushing  water  that  came 
eddying  and  spinning  through  the  arch.     Long 
spells  of  silent  contemplation  were  not  infre- 
quent with   him.      He  was  not  much  of  an 
earner,  being  of  the  temperament  that  does 
not  covet  a  steady  job.     Yet  having  regard 
to  his  requirements   and  surroundings,   Phil 
Davy  was    better    off   than   many   who    are 
accounted  rich.      He  possessed  a  little  house 
with  a  large  garden  and  two  or  three  fields  of 
his  own.      He  had  a  couple  of  cows,  a  sow  or 
two,  a  horse  and  cart,  fowls  of  all  sizes  and 
colours — but  some  of  the  right  blue — and  a 
mongrel  bitch,  a  misbegotten  bit  of  cleverness 
that  came  by  chance  between  a  sort  of  grey- 
hound and  a  mixture  of  a  collie  and  water- 
spaniel.     With  bread  and  cheese,  supported  by 
a  sufficiency  of  beer,  he  was  generally  content. 
His  Sunday  suit,  reserved  for  quite   extra- 
ordinary occasions,  had  lasted  a  quarter  of  a 
centurv.     H  is  working  clothes  were  of  the  sort 


178  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

that  never  wear  out.  So  with  a  rabbit  often, 
and  other  things  now  and  then  for  a  change 
from  his  home-cured  bacon,  he  did  well  enough. 
At  any  rate,  at  threescore  he  could  show  a 
sound  set  of  teeth  whenever  he  grinned,  tie 
a  blue-upright  without  spectacles,  and  had 
never  had  an  ache  in  all  his  life.  Moreover, 
he  had  a  round,  contented,  chubby  face, 
covered  with  a  stubbly  beard  of  four  days' 
growth. 

He  looked  up  as  I  stopped  beside  him,  and 
the  mongrel  gave  a  low  growl.  "  Get  out," 
cried  he,  and  shoved  the  bitch  aside  with  his 
foot.  "She  won't  bite.  'Tes  living  close 
upon  the  road  and  lonely,  I  do  suppose.  She 
do  speak  to  everybody  that  do  but  stop,  but 
she  don't  never  offer  to  catch  hold." 

I  leaned  on  the  wall  also  for  a  chat ;  for 
what  Phil  Davy  does  not  know  about  the  river 
is  not  worth  finding  out.  He  smiled  and 
pointed  down  into  the  water.  Under  the 
shelter  of  the  buttress  lay  a  trout  off  lb., 
poised  just  off  the  rapid  eddy  of  the  crystal 
stream.  The  fish  hung  in  the  current  appar- 
ently without  effort,  almost  motionless   and 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        179 

scarcely  visible.  Just  then  the  sun  burst  out 
between  two  mountains  of  silver-edged  cloud  ; 
and,  although  the  trout  still  kept  the  colour 
of  the  stones  around  him,  a  dark  shadow,  a 
silhouette,  was  cast  upon  the  yellow  gravel 
below.  The  trout  shifted  to  one  side,  opened 
his  great  mouth  wide  to  swallow  something 
that  was  invisible  to  us,  and  again  took  up 
his  customary  place. 

Phil  Davy  winked. 

We  both  smiled. 

I  cannot  tell  why  it  was  amusing  ;  but  I 
think  we  both  looked  beyond  the  wideness 
of  the  gape  and  the  sudden  closing  of  the  jaws 
into  the  psychological  experiences  of  the  fish. 
We  understood  his  hunger  and  satisfaction, 
and  found  him  to  be  a  sound  sportsman  and  a 
master  of  his  craft. 

A  blue  dun  came  floating  from  under  the 
arch,  and  another  fluttering  aslant  across  the 
ripple.  Thicker  and  faster  came  the  flies,  and 
at  once  our  trout  became  as  busy  as  a  fly- 
catcher on  a  garden  rail.  For  my  own  part, 
I  sympathise  with  Phil  Davy  and  his  leaning 
upon  a  wall  ;    for  the  common  incidents   of 


180  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Nature  do  not  grow  stale,  and  to  observe 
again  is  like  listening  to  a  familiar  strain  of 
music,  which  is  all  the  better  because  it  has 
been  heard  before. 

"  You'll  have  good  sport  to-day,  sir,"  said 
he,  glancing  from  the  water  to  the  sky. 
"That  is,  if  you  can  call  it  so  nowadays. 
For  'tes  nothing  as  it  used  to  be.  Paugh  !  " 
— he  paused  after  this  ejaculation  of  contempt 
and  spat  upon  the  road.  "Why,  I  can  call 
to  mind  when,  pick  my  day,  I  could  go  out 
an'  catch  fifty  of  an  afternoon,  an'  now  a  man 
do  think  it  a  fine  thing  to  bring  home  a 
score." 

"There  is  less  food  brought  down  than 
formerly,  and  the  river  rises  and  runs  low 
very  quickly,"  I  suggested. 

"  That's  not  all,"  said  he,  with  an  impatient 
wave  of  the  hand.  "  I  don't  know  what  your 
opinion  may  be,  but  I  can  tell  you  my  view  o' 
it.  'Tes  preservation,  that's  what  'tes.  Now 
I  never  didden  see  no  good  come  o'  preserva- 
tion. 'Tes  my  belief  that  God  A'mighty  don't 
hold  wi'  preservation  an'  upsetten  things  as 
He've  arranged  'em  like." 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        181 

He  paused,  apparently  for  support  in  this 
pious  contention. 

I  remained  silent  and  he  went  on  : 
"  They,  salmon  folk,  do  charge  a  five-shillen 
licence  now  for  a  trout-rod,  besides  the  'socia- 
tion  ;  an',  so  vur  as  they  can,  mind,  they  do 
stop  a  poor  man  from  all  the  little  games  he 
used  to  play.  They  wunt  allow  un  to  put 
down  a  night-line  now,  not  if  they  do  chance 
to  find  un  out,  for  fear  he  should  now  an' 
again  catch  a  trout.  We  used  to  catch  some 
wonderful  big  yeels,  mind,  an'  every  yeel  do 
eat  a  lot  o'  veesh.  Do  ee  see  the  Q-'irt  stone 
over  there,  where  the  water  do  lie  still  off  the 
swirl,  like.  I  wur  a  leanen  'pon  the  wall  one 
time,  as  you  yourself  mid  be  to-day,  jus'  to 
cast  a  look  roun',  an'  I  seed  a  little  trout  come 
up  the  stream  an'  lie  over  the  gravel  close 
beside  the  stone  there.  In  a  second  out 
jumped  the  head  of  a  girt  yeel  an'  catched  un 
across  the  back  like  a  shot.  He  couldn'  very 
well  pull  un  in  under  the  stone.  'Tes  a 
smallish  hole.  An'  thik  yeel  corned  right  out 
wi'  the  trout  in  his  mouth.  I  urned  down, 
but  he  let  go  the  trout,  an'  went  down  under 


182  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

the  stone  an'  hid  hiszelf.  Yeels  do  do  a  main 
lot  'o  destruction,  a  hundred  times  so  much 
as  night-lines.     Or  anyways  that's  my  view 

O    It. 

I  agreed  as  to  the  culpability  of  the  eel,  and 
it  gave  him  encouragement. 

"  Now  jus'  look  at  thik  five-shillen  licence  a 
minute.  I  used  to  catch  a  goodish  many  trout 
wi'  rod  an'  line,  an'  I  mid  go  now  a  score  o' 
times  an'  none  the  wiser,  or  mayhap  the  fust 
time  I  did  walk  up  the  stream  their  keeper- 
fellow  mid  be  a-squinten  down  from  the  hill- 
top an'  come  a-runnen  down  to  look  at  my  bit 
o'  paper." 

"  He  is  always  there,"  said  I,  "  with  a  tele- 
scope." 

"  Paugh  !  Do  they  think  I  don't  have  so 
many  trout  as  I  do  want?  If  they  do  they 
mus'  be  fools." 

He  drew  closer  as  if  to  confide.  His 
voice  grew  more  angry  and  boastful  as  he 
went  on. 

"  There  is  places  where  their  man  mus'  be 
down  close  'pon  the  river  bank  to  see  what  I 
be  about.      There's  trout  under  the    stones. 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        183 

There's  trout  under  thik  clump  o'  rushes  and 
under  the  mocks  o'  the  bush.  Or  take  a  quiet 
a'ternoon  of  a  hot  day,  all  the  veesh  do  get 
under  the  long  weeds  that  do  be  so  still  in  the 
gentle  water  or  jus'  sway  to  and  fro  along  the 
edge  o'  the  current.  I  do  count  they  do  go 
to  sleep  there.  Anyway  you  can  pick  'em  up 
a'most  like  pullen  turmets.  A  veesh  do  never 
slip  if  there's  ever  so  small  a  bit  o'  weed 
against  your  palm.  Now,  what  about  thik 
five-shillen  licence  ?  I  used  to  catch  fair  wi' 
a  line.  But  I've  a-got  to  have  'em,  mind. 
So  now  I  do  poach  so  many  as  ever  I  do 
want.  I  don't  see  no  harm  in  it.  An'  I  do 
hope  somebody  or  'nother  '11  knock  thik 
keeper-feller's  head  off  one  o'  these  days. 
Anyways,  that's  my  view  o'  it." 

Suddenly  he  cast  aside  all  selfish  thoughts 
and  became  solicitous  for  my  interests  alone. 

"  Now,  look  here  now,  how  do  they  get  their 
money  to  pay  thik  feller  to  come  a-meddlen 
wi'  we  ?  They  do  have  it  out  o'  you.  This 
idden  a  salmon  river,  not  vor  gentry  to  come 
to  pay  to  catch  'em.  So  they  must  have  it 
out  o'  you.     They  do  all  know  they  couldn' 


1 84  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

catch  no  salmon  here  no  fashion  " — he  made 
the  word  rhyme  with  nation — "but  there's 
hundreds  o'  thousands  o'  little  salmon,  'bout 
so  long  as  your  middle  finger,  to  eat  up  the 
food,  an'  you  be  bothered  to  catch  'em  a'most 
every  cast  an'  chuck  'em  in  again.  There's 
no  money  do  come  out  o'  this  river  but  what 
the  trout- veeshers  do  pay.  They  do  take  your 
money  o'  purpose  to  spoil  your  sport.  That's 
what  they  do  do.     They  do  rob  you,  I  do  call 

— you  that  do  pay.     Anyways,  that's  my  view 

>  • .  it 

o   it. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me,  frowning,  in 
the  intensity  of  his  indignation  on  my  behalf. 
But  when  I  laughed  his  features  relaxed  into 
a  grin  and  he  chuckled  also.  Yet  the  re- 
counting of  his  views  had  made  him  very 
irritable.  He  hooked  a  bit  of  mortar  from  a 
crevice  between  two  coping-stones  of  the  wall 
and  again  looked  down  into  the  water. 

"You  greedy  old  toad.  Idden  your  gut 
full  by  this  time  ?  You  be  like  the  rest  o' 
the  big  uns.     You  do  want  all,  you  do." 

He  pitched  down  the  mortar  almost  on  the 
trout's    head.     The  fish    turned  and    darted 


THE  IDLE,  MOUCHING  FELLOW        185 

off  downstream.  He  laughed,  wished  me 
"  Good  morning,"  and  walked  off  up  the  road. 
I  presently  clambered  over  a  fence  and 
wandered  up  the  riverside. 

The  day  did  not  fulfil  its  promise  after  all. 
Before  noon,  the  sun  shone  out  of  a  clear  blue 
sky,  and  the  cast  glittered  like  silver  on  the 
dancing  water.  It  was  no  good  to  fish. 
Better  to  sit  on  a  leaning  pollard  willow 
within  hearing  of  the  whisper  of  the  stream, 
and  watch  the  thin  film  of  fleecy  cloud  melt 
away  in  the  warm  sunshine.  Better  even  to 
dream  and  then  to  doze — "a  idle,  mouching 
fellow." 

Then  came  the  bleating  of  flocks,  the  bark- 
ing of  dogs,  and  the  laughter  and  shouts  of 
men.  They  were  bringing  sheep  to  be  washed 
in  the  convenient  pool  of  a  smaller  tribu- 
tary stream  a  field  away.  Isaac  Jeans,  the 
shepherd  at  the  Manor  Farm,  and  young 
John  Brook  were  there.  They  pitched  and 
shoved  the  sheep  off  the  bank  and  let  them 
out  by  a  shallow  to  dry  clean  and  white  on 
the  warm  hillside.  After  washing,  in  a  day 
or  two  they  will  be  ready  for  shearing. 


186  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

The  scene  was  full  of  life  and  rural  sounds. 
Some  sheep  were  thrown  in.  Some,  of  them- 
selves, eager  to  follow  the  others,  leapt  boldly 
off  the  bank — all  to  be  well  soused  before 
they  were  allowed  to  pass  out  dripping  by 
the  shelving  gravel  on  the  opposite  side. 

Then  I  strolled  up  the  brook  to  look  for 
a  moorhen's  nest  under  the  shelter  of  alder 
bushes,  or  a  dabchick's  midstream,  with  its 
eggs,  once  white,  hidden  under  pieces  of  green 
weed.  Yet  why  should  a  man  find  delight 
in  the  useless,  childish  search  for  such  familiar 
objects? — "a  idle,  mouching  fellow." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW 

It  is  not  possible  to  present  a  portrait  of  the 
old  Squire  that  can  with  any  confidence  be 
asserted  to  be  a  likeness. 

Hanging  in  the  dining-room  at  Netherby 
Court,  a  mansion  situated  about  half  a  mile 
from  Sutton,  you  may  see  him  on  horseback 
surrounded  with  his  hounds.  Tradition  states 
that  a  family  group  having  been  suggested,  he 
refused  to  sit  otherwise  than  in  a  saddle  and 
in  this  company.  He  also  chose  an  artist 
supremely  gifted  in  the  portrayal  of  animals. 
These  statements  appear  to  rest  on  a  solid 
foundation.  On  certain  post-prandial  occa- 
sions, when  the  soul  mellows  and  the  heart 
expands,  elderly  men,  who  hunted  with  him 
in  youth,  may  even  now  be  observed  to  wander 

to    the   picture   and   sigh,    "  Ah !     The   old 

187 


188  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Squire  !  "  But  they  fall  immediately  into 
animated  discussion  as  to  the  identity  of  some 
of  the  hounds.  This  proves  the  old  Squire's 
heart  to  have  been  in  the  right  place,  and  that 
he  decided  well.  But  the  question  as  between 
"  Faithful  "  and  "  Fortitude  "  will  never  be 
decided  in  this  world. 

All  that  is  deeply  important  concerning  the 
Winsfields  of  Netherby  Court  may  be  learnt 
from  the  heraldry  on  the  tablets  in  Sutton 
church.  They  have  never  been  conspicuous 
beyond  the  confines  of  their  county  ;  and  their 
reward  is  that  they  remain  at  Netherby  to-day. 
For  the  new  Squire  has  not,  as  is  now  so  often 
the  case,  a  new  name.  He  is  one  of  the  old 
stock.  He  is  not  young,  and  has  already 
reigned  some  years.  His  father  died  early  in 
India.  He  succeeded  the  old  Squire,  his 
grandfather,  and  is  new  only  in  the  sense  that 
he  is  modern. 

All  that  is  truly  interesting  about  the  old 
Squire  must  be  sipped  slowly  over  a  cup  by 
the  winter  fireside,  or  gathered,  an  anecdote  at 
a  time,  on  occasions  when  there  is  company 
at  "  The  Acorn." 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      189 

"The  Acorn"  stands  opposite  the  smithy. 
Sutton  is  a  temperate  village,  and  for  the  most 
part  its  alehouse  is  as  quiet  and  neglected  as 
the  aisle  of  the  parish  church  on  a  week-day. 
One  solitary  ghost  haunts  its  loneliness,  and 
making  intermittent  visits  to  peer  into  the 
empty  kitchen,  but  finding  no  one  there,  de- 
parts again.  Bill  Mason  does  not  sit  down 
alone.  He  has  never  the  price  of  a  pint  in  his 
pocket.  Yet  in  his  day  he  has  been  a  great 
celebrity.  Having  outlived  his  fame,  it  has  left 
him  nothing,  except  a  clear  perception  of  the 
universal  deterioration  of  mankind. 

Now  and  then  there  is  a  symposium  at 
"  The  Acorn." 

In  winter,  after  a  shoot,  the  beaters  spend 
an  hour  recounting  the  events  of  the  day.  Or 
after  a  sweating  week  at  hauling  hay,  with  an 
extra  shilling  or  so  for  overtime,  of  a  Saturday 
night  the  kitchen  may  be  full.  Then  you  may 
hear  much  quaint  wisdom  and  strange  philo- 
sophy, with  occasional  weird  prophecy  of  evil 
coming  to  your  country. 

At  such  times  Bill  Mason  is  always  present. 
He  sits  by  customary  right  in  the  corner  of  the 


i9o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

settle  close  against  the  wall,  a  strange  figure, 
unlike  any  of  the  labourers  around  him.  He 
wears  a  cast-off  tweed  suit,  with  trousers  baggy 
at  the  knee  and  patched  with  pieces  cut  from 
worn-out  garments  of  quite  a  different  character. 
He  likes  his  hair  clipped  short.  He  is  his  own 
barber,  and  a  critical  eye  may  detect  a  lack  of 
finish  in  the  performance,  but  many  are  the  cuts 
and  scars  revealed  upon  his  bullet  head.  A 
seam  divides  his  forehead.  There  are  marks 
of  a  surgeon's  stitches  on  the  summit  of 
his  high  cheek-bone.  He  is  clean  shaven — 
now  and  then.  His  face,  once  strong  and  hard, 
is  sodden  to-day,  and  his  cheeks  are  loose  and 
fat,  though  Bill's  ability  to  drink  is  sadlypiandi- 
capped  by  his  frequent  inabilityto  obtainliquor. 

They  had  been  shearing  at  the  Manor  Farm. 

The  feast  of  sheep-shearing,  described  so 
often  by  the  poets  of  old  English  manners  and 
life,  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  It  may  be  that 
some  lingering  hereditary  disposition  to  jollity 
filled  "The  Acorn"  on  this  occasion,  or  per- 
haps the  extra  beer  allowed  by  Mr.  William 
Purchase  promoted  thirst.  Or  again,  it  may  be 
that  shearing  is  a  greasy  sort  of  job,  begetting 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      191 

a  yearning  for  comfort  and  company.  At  any 
rate  Isaac  Jeans,  the  shepherd,  and  young  John 
Brook  dropped  into  the  alehouse  kitchen  and 
called  for  a  quart.  Bill  Mason  put  his  head  in 
at  the  door  and  wandered  to  his  accustomed 
corner.  John  Peters,  the  carter,  hearing 
voices,  just  stepped  in  for  a  minute,  and 
Japheth  Pike,  coming  to  fetch  the  supper  beer, 
for  once  sat  down,  "just  to  have  a  word  wi' 
shepherd  about  them  hurdles."  I  can  assign 
no  reason  for  my  presence  there.  Thus  in  a 
few  minutes  quite  a  party  assembled  at  "  The 
Acorn." 

Rural  folk  live  very  little  in  the  past.  The 
present  absorbs  their  cares,  and  they  are  shy 
of  talking  to  a  stranger  of  bygone  people  and 
conditions.  If  you  inquire  of  the  aged,  they 
cannot  "  call  to  mind,"  or  they  have  heard  "  a 
summut,"  but  really  couldn't  "  tell  the  rights  o' 
it. "  If  you  ask  of  the  young,  it  was  before  their 
time.  You  cannot  gather  anecdotes  in  an  ale- 
house as  you  can  pick  nuts  in  an  October  wood. 
The  student  of  ancient  customs  and  old 
country  life  must  be  as  wary  as  a  trout-fisher. 
He  must  keep  well  out  of  sight,  and  cast  the 


i92  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

neatest  of  flies  with  infinite  patience,  until 
something  rises  out  of  the  depths. 

There  began  a  friendly  discussion  in  "  The 
Acorn  "  that  evening.  The  weather  was  warm, 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  kettle  the  fire  had 
been  blown  up  from  the  embers,  and  a  hand- 
ful of  sticks  were  crackling  across  the  dogs. 

"  Here.  Gie  us  they  bellice,"  cried  the 
shepherd  to  young  John  Brook.  "  I've  a-got 
the  rheumatics  in  my  joints.  I  do  always  feel 
it  for  a  full  week  a'ter  sheep-washen.  'Tis 
standen  in  the  water,  I  do  allow." 

In  company  Shepherd  Jeans  is  a  little 
apt  to  take  the  lead.  He  is  not  more  en- 
lightened than  his  fellow  labourers,  but  his 
responsibilities  are  greater  and  he  must 
constantly  think  and  act  for  himself.  He 
is  getting  on  in  years,  and  his  forehead  is 
brown  and  lined  and  weather-beaten.  His 
brows  are  drawn  together  into  a  sort  of 
frown  ;  and  yet  he  does  not  look  ill-natured 
but  only  serious.  He  does  not  shave,  but 
trims  his  beard  with  his  shearing  shears 
whenever  he  finds  himself  a  little  long  in 
the    fleece.      He    was    neatly    trimmed    that 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      193 

evening.  As  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
bellows,  his  face  displayed  more  character 
than  any  of  those  around  who  looked  at 
him  in  surprise. 

"Here!  I  say  !  Good  now!  You  do  want 
to  roast  us,  don't  ee  ?  Why  I  do  sweat  like 
a  bullock  as  'tis,"  remonstrated  young  John 
Brook. 

"  Gie  us  the  bellice,  dostn't  hear?  Don't 
I  tell  ee  I've  a-got  the  rheumatics  ?  "  repeated 
the  shepherd  in  a  tone  of  authority. 

The  young  John  Brook,  drawing  his  chair 
back  from  the  hearth  in  silent  protest,  obedi- 
ently handed  the  bellows. 

Shepherd,  with  a  great  air  of  knowing  a 
thing  or  two,  solemnly  placed  them  as  one 
might  a  cushion  against  the  back  of  his  chair, 
and  sat  erect  with  as  little  discomfort  as  the 
arrangement  allowed. 

"There's  nothing  like  a  pair  o'  bellices  to 
your  back  to  ease  the  rheumatics.  Do  beat  a 
hot  fermentation  out  an'  out.  There's  no 
inside  physic  can  touch  it — not  for  a  quick 
cure.  For  I've  both  a-seed  it  an'  a-proved 
it  on  my  own  self." 
J3 


i94  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Well.  Where  there's  proof  there's  no 
gainsayen,"  reflected  the  young  John  Brook, 
willing  to  make  amends  for  having  been  hasty. 

"  Now  that's  a  funny  thing,"  said  the  carter, 
"  that  Shepherd  should  say  that.  My  poor 
father  suffered  from  the  rheumatics  somethen 
shameful,  an'  from  the  boneshave  all  so  well. 
He  did  sit  wi'  the  bellice  to  his  back  night  after 
night,  an'  so  did  mother  too.  They  had  two 
pair  o'  bellices,  looky-see,  but,  mind  this,  the 
oldest  pair  had  a  crack  in  the  leather,  an' 
'oodn'  puff  the  fire  not  so  wonderful  well.  Now 
he  werden  half  so  o-ood  for  the  rheumatics  as 
the  sound  pair,  and  yet  he  were  the  biggest 
pair  o'  bellices,  too,  if  hadn'  a-been  for  the 
hole.  Now  to  my  mind  that  do  show,  so 
clear  as  day." 

"Ay!  but  mark  me,"  said  Shepherd,  care- 
fully pressing  amazing  black  tobacco  into  the 
bowl  of  a  clay  that  was  a  marvel  for  shortness. 
"  Bellices  is  a  very  funny  thing.  There's  more 
in  bellices  an'  some  folk  do  know.  'Tis  said, 
an'  have  a-been  proved  hundreds  o'  times,  that 
if  you  should  dap  the  bellices  down  'pon  table, 
there'll  be  a  death  in  house  afore  the  year's 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      195 

out.      I   can't  warrant  it  my  own  self.      But 
so  'tis  said." 

"  I  don't  hold  wi'  that,"  demurred  young 
John  Brook.  "  Bellices  be  scarce  about  now, 
but  deaths  be  all  so  plenty  as  in  years  agone." 

"Ay,  but  they  do  die  o'  other  things  now- 
adays. An'  besides — might  not  cause  death, 
but  be  only  a  token." 

"  Ah  !  Now  there  you  be,"  agreed  Carter. 
"  I  do  believe  in  warnens,  my  own  self.  There 
corned  three  taps  overnight  'pon  the  winder- 
pane,  an'  our  old  grammer,  her  send  for  passon 
to  once,  an'  her  were  a-tookt  afore  daybreak." 

"That  were  for  preparation,"  said  Shepherd. 
He  threw  back  his  head,  then  put  down  the 
empty  cup  and  tapped  upon  the  bench. 

"  A  quart,"  cried  he. 

"Some  do  tell  up,"  ventured  the  young 
John  Brook,  "  that  the  old  Squire  up  to  Court 
met  wi'  a  hint  like  years  afore  his  death — 
something  awful!     So  I've  a-heard  say." 

A  pause,  caused  by  the  arrival  of  the  quart, 
seemed  to  give  an  appropriate  opening. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  was  the  old  Squire  ? " 
I  ventured  to  ask. 


196  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Oh  !  He've  a-been  dead  these  years," 
replied  Carter  Peters,  and  the  subject  seemed 
dismissed. 

"  You  can  remember  him,  Shepherd  ? " 

"Well,  as  to  that,  I  can — but  still — well, 
he  had  a  beaver-skin  hat  an'  a  blue  coat  wi' 
brass  buttons.  But  la !  There !  'Tis  all 
gone  out." 

"  I  never  set  eyes  'pon  the  man,  myself," 
said  young  John  Brook,  desirous  not  to  with- 
hold any  valuable  information. 

"  I'll  warrant  you  didn',  young  John  Brook." 

"For  he  were  dead  an'  underground  ten 
year  afore  you  were  born." 

"  So  you  couldn't  very  well  see  the  man." 

"  An'  if  you  had  a-said  you  had,  you'd  a- 
been  a  liar." 

"  He  would  so." 

"  Ay.     An'  so  he  would." 

"  He  were  a  big  man  in  his  day,  no  doubt," 
reflected  Shepherd.  "  But  there,  he's  a-gone 
wi'  all  the  rest — gentle  an'  simple." 

A  thoughtful  silence  fell  on  the  company, 
for  the  shepherd's  remarks  savoured  of 
piety. 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      197 

"  That's  so,"  remarked  Japheth  Pike 
gravely. 

"An'  ever  must  be,"  added  the  carter, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  The  thing  that  surprises  me  is  that  such  a 
sportsman  should  have  been  such  a  strong 
teetotaller."  The  company  looked  at  me  in 
astonishment.  "  He  would  not  let  even  the 
cudgel-players  have  a  drink." 

At  once  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"You  don't  understand,  master,"  cried  the 
carter. 

"Ho!  You've  a-o-ot  hold  the  wrong- end 
o'  the  stick,  sir,"  drawled  the  young  John 
Brook. 

"  Did  the  old  Squire  manage  to  make 
you  a  tea-totaller,  Bill  ? "  asked  Japheth 
Pike,  turning  to  the  old  man  in  the 
corner. 

"  He  did,"  answered  the  veteran  shortly. 

"  Tell  about  it,  Bill,"  cried  Carter.  "  Here  ! 
Catch  hold  the  cup." 

Bill  Mason  sat  upright  on  the  settle.  The 
conversion  had  not  been  permanent.  The 
others  watched  the  gradual  elevation  of  the 


198  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

quart  with  anxiety.  When  he  set  down 
the  cup  there  was  again  a  tap  upon  the 
bench. 

"  A  quart." 

Bill  Mason  turned  round  and  addressed 
himself  to  me.  He  had  told  his  stories 
hundreds  of  times,  and,  to  be  sure,  neither 
hesitation  nor  diffidence  were  to  be  looked  for 
in  one  who  had  seen  much  company  in  his 
youth.  The  rest  of  the  party  listened  with 
eagerness.  They  liked  the  tales  all  the  better 
because  they  could  anticipate  them  word  by 
word. 

"  You  must  know,  sir,  that  years  agone 
Sutton  were  bigger,  an'  a  place  o'  more  fame 
'an  'tis  these  days.  There  were  four  men  o' 
Sutton,  my  own  self  an'  three  more  besides, 
open  to  challenge  the  world.  Any  four  cudgel- 
players  that  'ud  send  word — an'  put  the  money 
up,  to  be  sure — we  did  go  an'  meet  'em  where 
they  would.  Three  year — more  'an  a  hundred 
battles  an'  never  once  beat — and  then  Squire, 
he  'ranged  a  match  up  the  country,  ay,  two 
days'  journey  herefrom,  an'  drove  us  up  in  his 
coach  an'  four  so  as  to  get  there  overnight,  all 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      199 

ready  like  for  next  day.  But  la  !  We  were 
thought  so  much  o' !  We  was  royalty  or  pretty 
nigh.  When  we  did  walk  out  round  wi'  our 
ribbons  up,  folk  did  stop  to  gape  at  us.  Then 
'twere  a  drop  wi'  one,  an'  a  thimbleful  wi' 
tother,  an'  a  glass  wi'  a  third.  When  come 
noon,  time  to  go  up,  there  were  thousands 
come  for  miles  all  round  to  see  the  sport.  As 
you  stood  on  the  stage  the  heads  o'  the  folk 
below  were  so  thick  as  pebble-stones  'pon  a 
pitch-pavement.  But  lauk !  'Twere  little 
sooner  up,  an'  shake  hands,  an'  '  God  save  our 
eyesight,'  when  'twere  down  again  all  four 
one  a'ter  tother,  wi'  the  blood  a-tricklen  down 
our  foreheads.  All  over  an'  done  in  a  twink  ! 
An'  the  folk  cheered  for  a  minute,  as  mid  say, 
an'  then  they  hissed  we,  an'  shouted  '  Drunk  ! 
Drunk  ! '  To  think  they'd  a-comed  so  far  to 
nothen  at  all.  Yet  mind,  we  was  not  drunk. 
We  could  all  stand  up.  Well,  we  couldn't 
stand  upright,  maybe.  An'  we  didn't  stand 
up  long  for  certain  sure.  But  'twere  injustice 
to  hollar  '  Drunk !  '  Then  the  folk  did  hiss 
an'  hoot  we.  And  Squire  he  did  cuss.  He 
had  a-lost  a  lot  o'  money.      But  he  went  on — 


2oo  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

paid  there-right — had  his  hosses  put  to,  an' 
off  in  a  jiffy. 

"When  we  corned  to,  an'  we  was  left  behind, 
we  had  but  sevenpence-ha'penny  in  our 
pockets  all  told  !  Tother  fellars  had  a-winned 
ten  pound  a-piece.  They'd  ha'  helped  us  'ith- 
out  doubt,  but  la  !  every  face  did  grin.  So  we 
tramped  an'  slept  under  hedge,  an'  begged  a 
crust  at  a  farm  now  an'  again.  We  slunked 
home,  pretty  footsore,  the  second  mornen 
about  milken  time.  Three  score  miles  an'  five, 
in  one  clear  day  an' two  nights.  But  la!  We 
didn'  dare  to  show  our  nose  for  a  wick. 

"  I  were  Squire's  feeder  them  days.  I  did 
rear  an'  train  his  birds  o'  the  game.  We  had 
a  beautiful  lot  that  time.  I  thought  I'd  better 
to  go  up  to  Court.  I  went  up  to  the  door 
there  close  to  the  gun-room,  an'  he  were  in- 
side, so  I  could  hear  what  they  said.  The  man 
said,  '  Here's  Bill  Mason,  Squire,'  an' he  said, 
'Tell  Bill  Mason  to  go  to  hell.'  So  I  went 
back  home.  We  had  a  beautiful  lot  o'  birds, 
but,  a  month,  an'  he  never  corned  to  see  'em. 
The  poor  man  must  ha'  suffered  somethen 
awful.     Then  he  sent  word  a  day  to  be  ready. 


WIDOW  TEAPE  AT  HER  GARDEN  HATCH 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      201 

They  was  beautiful  birds.  We  fought  a  main 
in  Sutton  church  under  the  tower,  an'  Squire 
were  most  wonderful  pleased." 

"  But  what  if  the  passon  had  a-caught  wind 
o'  it  ?"  asked  young  John  Brook. 

"  Passon  !  you  fool,"  cried  Bill  Mason  con- 
temptuously. "  Passon  were  there,  werden 
er?" 

Young  John  Brook  collapsed  amid  laughter. 

"  So  Squire,  he  made  the  cudgel-player 
match  up  over  again.  He  drove  we  up,  all 
the  same  as  afore.  But  he  locked  we  in  a 
room.  There  was  four  little  truckle  beds  in 
a  row,  an'  a  table  wi'  a  plenty  of  victuals. 
But  no  drink,  not  so  much  as  a  sniff  o'  it. 
He  marched  we  up  under  his  own  eye.  An' 
we  beat  'em  well,  an'  parted  fifty  pound 
atween  the  four.  Heart  alive !  There  were 
nothen  we  couldn'  have  then.  An'  Squire 
drove  we  home  triumphant — all  "a-stratched 
out  in  the  bottom  o'  the  coach  so  drunk  as 
pigs. 

"Ah!  The  old  Squire  were  a  proper 
wonderful  man.  There's  none  such  about 
now.     Men    ha'n't    got    the    strength    now. 


202  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

They  ha'n't  got  the  heart  now.  He  were 
most  terr'ble  fond  o'  the  prize-ring.  He  could 
do  a  bit  wi'  his  fistes,  his  own  self,  too.  He 
were  a  proud,  high-minded  man,  yer  know. 
If  a  carter  or  a  timber-hauler  didn'  get  out 
o'  the  road  to  the  sound  o'  his  horn  quick 
enough  to  please  un,  he'd  hop  down  an* 
knock  un  down.  But  he  were  a-catched 
pretty  tidy  once.  Somebody  put  a  prize- 
fighter in  the  way  to  annoy  un.  He  hopped 
down.  But  he  got  the  worst  o'  it.  Tother 
knocked  he  down  that  time.  But  the  old 
Squire,  he  only  got  up  and  knocked  off  the 
dust  like,  an'  he  gied  the  man  five  shillens, 
an'  he  looked  at  un  an'  said,  '  My  man,  if  you 
was  ten  year  younger,  I'd  make  your  fortune 
for  ee.' 

"That's  what  he  used  to  say  to  I,  too. 
'  Bill  Mason,  if  you  were  so  clever  wi'  your 
fistes  as  you  be  quick  wi'  thik  cudgel-stick, 
I'd  make  you  the  first  man  in  England.' 

"  But  there's  none  such  now.  All  the  men 
be  wimmin  now.  An'  all  the  wimmin  be  like 
to  be  men,  by  what  I  do  read.  Look  at  the 
Squire  up  there  now.     He  couldn'  tell  a  game- 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      203 

cock  from  a  Dorken  pullet.  He  couldn'  put 
up  his  fistes  if  any  man  did  put  'pon  un. 
How  do  he  'muse  hisself  ?  Got  a  steam  saw, 
got  a  steam  dairy,  show  a  few  cart-hosses, 
an'  that's  about  all.  Ay,  the  country  is 
crone  down.  There's  no  men  now.  An'  I 
read  tother  day  in  the  paper  there's  a-gwaine 
to  be  a  revolution." 

Japheth  Pike  rose  as  one  who  has  had 
enough  of  it.  He  was  proud  of  his  strength 
and  conscious  of  sober  living. 

"  I  can't  sit  still  to  hear  no  more  such  lies," 
cried  he  impatiently.  "  There's  stronger  men 
now  in  this  parish  than  ever  you  was,  Bill 
Mason,  an'  that  don't  misuse  their  strength. 
The  old  Squire !  Ay,  an'  how  did  er  leave 
things  after  his  pranks  ?  The  farms  a- 
crumblen  and  the  buildens  a-tumblen  down. 
Not  a  sound  gate  'pon  the  estate,  nor  two 
sound  postes  to  any  one  o'  the  ramshackle 
patched-up  pa'cels  o'  splinters.  Why,  Squire 
couldn'  come  there  for  ten  year,  but  must  let 
it  an'  live  away  an'  save — an'  look  at  it  now. 
Josiah  Heppell  have  a-made  a  fortune  out  o' 
the  new  buildens.     'Tis  a  picture,  I   do  call 


2o4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

it,  Netherby  Court  estate.  An'  as  to  the  steam 
saw,  go  an'  see  it  work,  you  fool,  an*  then 
put  in  a  week  in  a  saw-pit.  I  do  allow  the 
old  man  left  Squire  a  hardish  time,  and  Squire 
have  a-put  his  back  into  it." 

He  walked  out  in  haste. 

"  Ah,  he  do  get  a  goodish  many  jobs  out 
o'  Squire,"  muttered  old  Bill  Mason. 

I  overtook  Japheth  before  he  reached  the 
little  house  and  yard. 

His  wrath,  by  nursing,  had  grown  into  a 
really  fine  indignation. 

"The  dairy!  'Tis  clean  as  a  pin.  An' the 
goods  do  come  out  every  time  alike — allowing 
for  the  feed,  to  be  sure." 

He  was  silent  for  some  half  a  dozen  paces. 

"  Look  at  the  cart-colts — an'  the  prices. 
'Tis  money  in  the  country.  Must  be.  An' 
I  do  call  our  Squire  do  work  hard.  Off 
every  day  idden  er  ?  To  some  Board  or 
Council  or  somethen  or  'nother." 

He  stopped  in  the  road  and  for  emphasis 
punched  with  his  fist  into  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand. 

"  But  what  I  can't  abide,"  said  he,  "  is  light 


THE  OLD  SQUIRE  AND  THE  NEW      205 

talk  about  the  wimmin  folk.  Look  at  Miss 
Cann.  I  do  smile  as  she  do  traipse  down- 
street.  But  she  is  all  for  the  bettering  o' 
things — she  is.  If  the  old  sot  had  a-been 
fifty  year  younger,  I'd  a-catched  un  hold  by 
scruff,  an'  a-twisted  the  neck  o'  un — I  would. 
No,  I  cannot  sit  still  to  hear  the  letten-down 
o'  the  wimmin  folk." 

Too  excited  to  say  "  Good-night  "  he  hastily 
passed  through  his  garden  gate  and  slammed 
the  door  behind  him  as  he  went  home  to  the 
"piteous  little  ooman." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING 

The  old  walls  of  the  village  pound  are  slowly 
crumbling.  The  holes  between  the  stones 
offer  a  nesting-place  to  the  tit.  From  the 
dusty  mortar  of  the  crevices  grow  spikes  of 
pennywort  a  foot  tall,  and  the  yellow  flowers 
of  the  stonecrop  are  bright  in  golden  patches. 
But  although  Sutton  folk,  on  their  way  down 
the  street,  frequently  stop  in  front  of  the 
pound,  they  take  no  note  of  such  ordinary 
trifles  as  these.  Their  attention  is  always 
directed  to  the  door.  It  is  a  very  old  door 
with  a  small  iron  grating,  at  about  the  height 
of  a  man's  eyes,  through  which  people  used 
to  peep  in  search  of  stock  that  had  wandered. 
You  can  rarely  see  the  grating  now.  The 
bill-poster  has  made  the  door  his  own,  and  it 
is  plastered  half  an  inch  thick. 


SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING  207 

The  other  afternoon,  just  as  the  stream  of 
merry,  noisy  children  came  rushing  out  of 
school,  the  bill-sticker  was  pasting  up  another 
bill.  A  crowd  gathered  round  him  at  once, 
for  elder  people  also  came  popping  out  of 
their  houses. 

"  Read  it  out,  one  o'  ee,"  screamed  the 
voice  of  Widow  Teape. 

One  of  the  bigger  boys  began  to  shout : 
"  Whit- Monday,  June  10,  Sutton  Friendly 
Society."  But  all  the  others  took  up  the 
strain,  until,  presently,  half  the  children  of 
Sutton  were  reciting  the  contents  of  the 
poster,  after  the  manner  that  you  may  over- 
hear them  through  the  open  window,  as  you 
pass  the  schoolhouse,  repeating  poetry  in 
class.  And  the  purport  was  that  Sutton  Club 
would  meet  at  10  ;  attend  Divine  service  in 
the  Parish  Church  at  1 1  ;  dine  in  the  marquee 
in  a  field  kindly  lent  by  William  Purchase, 
Esq.,  at  1  ;  that  the  sports  would  commence 
at  3  ;  that  the  magnificent  Oldbury  Brass 
Band  had  been  engaged,  and  that  dancing 
would  begin  at  6. 

From  the  time  of  this  announcement  until 


208  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Whit-Monday  a  suppressed  excitement  was 
to  be  observed  in  Sutton  Street.  Out  of  all 
the  rich  succession  of  festivities  that  once 
made  up  the  rural  year,  Sutton  has  retained 
only  this  one.  But  Sutton  Club-Walking  is 
celebrated,  and  there  is  no  other  for  many 
a  mile  around.  Cottagers  from  neighbouring 
villages  flock  to  Sutton  on  Whit-Monday. 
Sutton  knows  that  it  has  a  reputation  to  keep 
up  and  does  it. 

Not  but  what  there  are  croakers  who  try  to 
find  fault  with  the  constitution  of  the  Club. 
They  mutter  that  its  economic  system  leaves 
a  something  to  be  desired,  and  predict  its 
speedy  decease.  "  This'll  be  the  last,"  they 
say.  "Village  clubs  can't  stand  up  'gainst 
the  big  societies.  'Tis  the  same  wi'  clubs  as 
'tis  all  the  world  over — the  big  do  eat  up  the 
little."  Meanwhile  the  maidens  get  out  their 
summer  frocks,  for  the  bill  is  out  for  this  time, 
at  any  rate.  They  watch  the  opening  rose- 
buds on  the  cottage  front,  to  see  whether 
any  will  be  ready  by  the  time,  and  "  worrit 
their  heads  "  to  find  a  new  way  of  trimming 
up  the  house. 


SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING  209 

For  the  village  is  decorated  at  Club-Walk- 

o 

ing.  Heppell  lends  scaffolding-poles,  and  at 
daybreak — because  of  Sunday  it  cannot  be 
done  overnight — his  men  are  busy  erecting  a 
triumphal  arch  at  the  entrance  to  the  field, 
where  preparation  has  already  been  made  for 
the  marquee.  At  six  the  Union  Jack  flutters 
from  the  church  tower  and  the  bells  strike 
out  a  peal.  Before  breakfast  there  is  a 
festoon  of  flags  from  the  upstair  window  of 
the  smith's  house  to  the  sign  of  "The 
Acorn."  Selina  Jane  Edwards  has  a  string 
of  bunting  from  the  lilac  bush  to  the  clothes- 
pole  on  the  other  side  of  the  path.  The 
Widow  Teape  has  fastened  a  Jubilee  handker- 
chief, emblazoned  with  the  Royal  Arms,  to 
a  long  lath,  and  her  boy  "Urchett"  has 
climbed  up  and  lashed  it  to  the  top  shoot 
of  her  apple  tree.  So  the  village  is  gay 
indeed.  All  being  perfect,  women  in  their 
best,  maidens  in  their  white,  and  children 
with  orreat  flowers  in  their  buttonholes  stand 
in  their  doorways,  or  by  the  garden  hedges, 
or  in  groups  upon  the  causeway,  and  adorn 
the  street  itself  with  palpitating  human 
14 


2ic  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

life.  They  are  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the 
band. 

The  band  is  to  be  depended  upon.  Quite 
pat  upon  its  hour  it  drives  up  in  a  brake  and 
pair,  with  all  the  great  brass  instruments  and 
the  big  drum  in  view.  The  children  cheer, 
throw  their  hats  into  the  air,  and  shout : 
"  Pla-a-ay  up  !  "  "  Pla-a-ay  up  !  "  But  the 
band,  conscious  of  fame,  remains  solemn. 
The  drum  sits  self-contained.  The  trombone 
does  not  smile.  Only  a  frivolous  and 
romantic  cornet  has  before  now  been 
known  to  wink  at  the  village  maidens  as  he 
passed.  So  it  reaches  its  destination — the 
open  space,  which  was  once  the  village  green. 

At  once  all  is  stir. 

The  walkers  are  there,  each  bringing  his 
pole  with  the  brass  head,  a  fleur-de-lis  for 
Sutton,  if  he  has  one — for  in  a  business  age 
such  trifles  are  no  longer  imperative.  Old 
Abe,  Japheth  Pike,  and  some  of  the  older 
men  also  wear  scarves  over  their  shoulders. 
Japheth  Pike  andyoung  John  Brook  bring  the 
great  blue  banner  on  two  poles,  bearing  the 
legend  in  gold:   "Sutton  Friendly  Society." 


SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING  211 

The  old  rector  in  his  surplice  comes  from  the 
church  and  takes  his  position  in  front ;  the 
banner  is  raised ;  officials  hurry  members 
into  rank  ;  the  band  strikes  up,  and  the  Club 
marches  up  the  street,  round  the  lane,  and  into 
the  street  again.  In  Sutton  those  who  have 
no  part  in  a  procession  never  follow  it.  They 
are  so  eager  that  they  run  in  front.  But  at 
the  church  the  village  stands  on  one  side,  and 
watches  the  Club  into  the  porch.  Thus  it  has 
happened  without  change  for  many  a  year. 

The  old  rector  preached  on  this  occasion 
on  brotherly  love.  He  could  find  no  better 
subject,  to  be  sure.  The  kindly  parish  was 
most  lenient  in  its  criticism  of  the  sermon. 
But  as  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  afterwards  said, 
"  Dear  old  man,  to  be  sure !  But  la  !  what 
we  do  want  is  a  young  man  up  to  the  times, 
for  a  place  like  Sutton." 

The  dinner  was  a  hot  dinner.  It  could 
not  be  otherwise  under  a  marquee  in  June. 
Many  of  the  ladies,  wives  and  sweethearts  of 
Sutton,  were  present.  We  dined  off  British 
beef,  roast  or  boiled,  or  both.  There  was 
plum-pudding  of  a  most  admirable  variety  and 


2i2  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

a  strong  flavour  of  mixed  spice.  We  drank 
good  honest  beer  or  cider,  according  to  taste. 
We  were  hearty  and  merry,  and  laughed  and 
joked,  and  at  the  end  drank  to  "The  King" 
with  a  seemly  reverence. 

After  that  the  serious  business  began, 
when  we  drank  to  "  Sutton  Friendly  Society," 
associated  with  the  names  of  Mr.  Richard 
Tucker,  the  treasurer,  and  "  Mr.  Ebenezer 
Dark,  our  worthy  and  energetic  secretary." 
For  "Uncle  Dick"  and  "Dairyman"  are 
great  supporters  of  the  Club,  and  although 
paying  members,  would  "never  dream  of 
making  claim  either  for  sick-  or  walking-pay." 

But  before  there  was  time  to  put  the  toast, 
long  John  Batch,  with  a  complexion  more 
sallow  and  his  hair  straighter  than  ever, 
arose  and  expressed  a  desire  to  say  a  few 
words.  Long  John  Batch  is  evidently  the 
reformer  of  this  neighbourhood. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "there  has  been 
some  talk  about  that  sixteen  pound  ten  an' 
two,  stock  money.  Our  treasurer,  when  he 
wur  asked,  he  didn'  appear  to  know  the 
whereabouts  o'  that  sixteen  pound  ten  an'  two. 


SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING  213 

But  I've  made  it  my  business  to  find  out 
about  that  sixteen  pound  ten  an'  two.  I've 
a-been  treasurer  myself,  and  I'll  own  up  that 
I  didn'  know  then  who  did  hold  the  money ; 
so  I  don't  attack  nobody,  nor  cast  no  blame. 
But  I  do  find  now,  when  I  be  out  o'  office, 
that  there  is  or  should  be  a  sum  of  sixteen 
pound  ten  an'  two.  I've  a-put  the  question 
in  to  the  bank,  an'  the  money  is  safe  there, 
gentlemen ;  sixteen  pound  ten  an'  two,  in  the 
name  of  our  secretary  an'  another.  Now  I 
do  consider  it  did  ought  to  be  put  to  a  real 
account  in  the  name  o'  the  Sutton  Friendly 
Society,  an'  I  do  propose " 

"  Shut  up  !  "  cried  one. 

"  Go  on  !  "  cried  another. 

"Is  the  money  safe  ?  " 

"Very  well,  then " 

In  the  midst  of  this  hubbub  Dairyman  as 
secretary  rose  to  explain. 

"  I've  a-been  secretary  o'  this  Club  one-an'- 
twenty  year,"  said  he.  "  I  an'  another  have 
always  held  the  money,  an'  the  treasurer 
he've  always  a-took  charge  o'  the  book.  I've 
always  done    right  wi'  Sutton    Club  an'  the 


2i4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

money,  an'  Mr.  Richard  Tucker  he've 
always  done  right  wi'  the  book,  an'  if  any 
change  is  made,  I  shall  resign." 

The  Club  rose  and  cheered  as  one  man. 
There  had  been  some  wild  rumours  about  the 
"  sixteen  pound  ten  an'  two."  Nobody  had 
been  quite  sure  where  it  was  but  the  banker. 
That  being  ascertained,  the  Club  favoured  no 
reform  and  the  toast  was  duly  honoured. 

"Well,  then,  is  that  all?"  asked  Dairy- 
man officially,  as  secretary. 

"That's  all." 

"  That's  right,  then.  For  all  I  can  tell  you 
is,  that  if  there  had  a-been  very  much  more 
talk  'tis  not  only  myself,  but  you'd  ha'  lost 
the  services  of  a  first-rate  treasurer.  I  call 
on  Mr.  Richard  Tucker " 

Sutton  cheered. 

It  then  appeared  that,  besides  keeping  the 
book,  the  treasurer  had  a  duty  to  perform. 
Uncle  Dick  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket 
and  sternly  called:  "Jim  Burch,  Tommy 
Peters,  David  Snook,  Bill  Jeans.  Where 
be,  all  o'  ee  ?  Stand  out  here  and  show 
yourzelves." 


SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING  215 

Four  grinning  youths  stood  forward  in  the 
presence  of  all. 

"JimBurch!  So  there  he  is,  then.  Take 
a  good  look  at  un.  Fit  to  take  the  King's 
shilling  to  my  mind  any  day  o'  the  week. 
Any  objections  ? — 'Lected. 

"  Tommy  Peters.  Stand  out  there.  Five 
foot  ten  an'  fresh  as  a  rose.  All  the  maidens 
be  a-looken  at  un.  Don't  ee  blush,  Tommy. 
Any  objections? — 'Lected. 

"  David  Snook.  Sound  in  wind  and  limb. 
I'll  warrant  un.  A  bit  bow-legged,  but  that's 
better  'an  bandy.    Any  objections  ? — 'Lected. 

"  Bill  Jeans.  Find  un  victuals  an'  drink 
an'  he'll  never  pray  for  physic.  Any  ob- 
jections ? — 'Lected." 

The  company  took  a  look  at  each  in  turn, 
or  pretended  to  do  so.  The  early  youth  of 
Sutton  are  rosy  as  morning  and  straight  as 
pine  trees.  This  was  the  medical  examina- 
tion for  entrance  to  the  Club. 

"All  elected!"  shouted  Uncle  Dick,  and 
we  rushed  from  the  sweating  heat  of  the 
marquee  into  the  clear  and  glorious  June 
sunshine. 


216  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

We  were  ready  for  the  sports  and  com- 
petitions ;  and  the  sheep-shearers,  who  do  not 
require  music,  were  started  while  the  brass 
band,  which  had  played  during  the  speeches, 
retired  into  the  marquee  to  dinner.  Sutton 
was  justly  proud  of  the  band,  because  ten 
years  ago  it  gained  a  prize  at  a  competition. 
It  enjoyed  eternal  reputation  on  that  great 
success.  Uncle  Dick  in  particular  was 
anxious  that  the  band  should  be  kept  well 
nourished  and  sustained,  because  much  was 
expected  of  it,  and  the  music  was  known  to 
be  first-class  and  remarkable.  He  walked 
from  one  to  another,  a  jug  in  each  hand, 
declaring  that  no  man  can  blow  brass  if  he's 
dry.  Then  came  the  sports,  and  in  them  we 
had  no  old-world  games,  no  sack-races,  no 
wheel-barrow,  but  a  military  tournament  with 
tent-pegging  and  the  slicing  of  lemons  with 
cavalry  swords.  We  did  not  really  have 
lemons,  which  are  expensive  and  scarcely 
known  at  Sutton,  but  substituted  the  finest 
potatoes  eyes  ever  saw.  The  young  yeomen 
of  the  surrounding  district  rode  and  slashed 
with  such  skill,  that,  as  Uncle  Dick  said,  half 


SUTTON  CLUB-WALKING  217 

the  parish  might  pick  up  a  breakfast  of  teddies 
all  chopped  up  an'  ready  to  fry  if  they  was 
a-minded. 

Then  there  were  pony-races  and  foot-races 
for  girls,  but  still  the  thoughts  of  Uncle  Dick, 
keeping  always  in  view  the  evening  dance, 
dwelt  upon  refreshment  for  the  band.  Now 
and  then  his  voice  might  be  heard  across  the 
field — "  For  God's  sake,  Ebenezer  Dark, 
don't  let's  forget  the  band." 

The  band  was  not  forgotten.  When  the 
hour  for  dancing  came  there  was  a  certain 
want  of  unanimity  about  the  brass,  but  this 
was  amply  compensated  for  by  the  precision 
of  the  big  drum.  The  youth  of  Sutton  with 
peonies  in  their  buttonholes,  without  invita- 
tion, seized  the  willing  maids  all  dressed  in 
white  and  frisked  and  bobbed  them  round  as 
merry  as  lambkins.  You  cannot  waltz  upon 
the  grass,  and  they  danced  the  old  country 
dances  of  long  ago  which  were  so  much  like 
romps.  At  the  winter  dance  in  the  school- 
room Sutton  can  waltz  well  enough  and  is 
proud  of  it ;  at  Club-Walking  they  go  back  to 
"  Hunt  the  Squirrel "  and  "  Four-hand-reels." 


218  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

They  were  still  at  it  as  the  dusk  came 
creeping  on.  And  still  the  voice  of  Uncle 
Dick  was  to  be  heard  at  intervals — 

"  Ebenezer,  for  God's  sake,  don't  let's 
forget  the  band." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  band. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE 

There  was  excitement  in  the  neighbourhood 
when  it  became  understood  that  Sutton,  of 
all  places  in  the  world,  had  returned  a  lady 
member  to  a  seat  upon  the  Board.  Never 
before  had  such  a  thing  been  heard  of  in 
the  Oldbury  Union,  and  some  old-fashioned 
people  regarded  the  innovation  with  alarm. 
The  opinions  of  Miss  Cann  had  so  often  been 
described  as  "  very  pronounced  "  that  perhaps 
there  was  reason  for  the  flutter  in  the  Oldbury 
dovecotes.  Really  sound  opinions  may  be 
taken  for  granted,  and  need  never  be 
"  pronounced." 

However,  here  was  the  lady  duly  returned, 
and  the  wisdom  of  Oldbury  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  In  that  sleepy  rural  district  ap- 
proaching change  was   ever  made  the  sub- 


22o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

ject  of  melancholy  prediction,  but  genial  op- 
timism followed  the  accomplished  fact.  More 
than  one  well-nourished  guardian  of  the  poor 
agreed  with  Mr.  William  Purchase  that  there 
were  doubtless  "matters  in  connection  with 
the  administration  of  the  Poor  Law  in  which 
the  opinion  of  a  woman — the  right  woman, 
mind  you — might  be  of  distinct  utility."  The 
chairman  himself  was  reported  to  have 
whispered  in  a  genial  moment  over  a  glass 
of  after-dinner  port  that,  if  Miss  Cann  would 
but  keep  from  quixotic  views  and  hysterical 
utterances  he  really  did  not  see  what  harm 
she  could  do. 

Being  duly  elected  Miss  Cann  mounted  her 
bicyle  without  delay  and  rode  to  explore  the 
scene  of  her  future  activity.  At  the  great 
iron  entrance-gates  she  dismounted.  Then, 
having  taken  half  a  dozen  steps  on  the  broad 
gravel  path,  she  stopped  and  gazed  with  close 
attention  upon  the  great  building  before  her. 

Thousands  of  times  she  had  glanced  at  it 
from  the  road ;  but  to-day,  with  a  keener 
interest,  she  observed  it  in  every  detail.  It 
was  long  and  high,  and  grimly  rectangular 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE      221 

throughout.  No  touch  of  fancy  relieved  the 
stern  squareness  of  any  amongst  its  three 
tiers  of  windows.  No  curve  hung  like  a 
smile  of  welcome  above  the  lintel  of  the  open 
door.  The  whole  business  of  the  place  was 
hospitality,  and  yet  to  the  eye  of  Miss  Cann 
it  wore  a  grudging  look.  She  could  not  feel 
prepossessed  with  this  structure,  so  large  and 
so  important  in  the  social  system  that  it  was 
always  spoken  of  as  "The  House." 

The  new  lady  guardian  betrayed  no 
symptom  of  hysteria  as  she  stood  on  the 
workhouse  path  that  day.  In  front  was  a 
garden  with  flowers  and  a  small  lawn,  upon 
which  the  Master's  children  were  at  play. 
Two  aged  paupers  were  weeding  a  border 
before  the  door.  Another,  the  eldest  of  the 
three,  was  cleaning  away  the  grass  from  the 
edge  of  the  path,  but  he  stopped  and  leaned 
upon  his  hoe  to  look  at  her. 

"  Heart  alive !  Why,  if  tidden  Miss 
Cann,"  cried  he. 

And  so  it  was,  sure  enough. 

She  "had  on,"  as  he  afterwards  explained 
to  the  other  paupers,  "a  plainish,  whitish  sort 


222  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

o'  frock,  wi'  no  gimcracks  or  furbelows,  not  in 
the  body  ne'et  about  the  tail  o'  un."  The 
skirt  was  short,  and  the  boots  "  pretty 
stoutish."  The  old  man  had  been  a  village 
cobbler,  and  he  "allowed  they  were  sixes." 
She  wore  a  straw  hat  with  some  white  ribbon 
but  no  feathers.  She  looked  like  a  real  lady, 
with  nothing  "  high-minded "  about  her,  and 
so  he  raised  his  finger  to  his  hat. 

Miss  Cann  advanced,  then  stopped  again. 

"  Micah  Dodge  !  Good-afternoon,  Micah," 
said  she.  "  It  is  very  pleasant  here  in  the 
sun. 

The  old  man  stood  upright  as  well  as  he 
was  able,  for  he  was  bow-legged  from  his 
trade  and  bent  in  the  back.  He  took  off  his 
hat,  and  discovered  a  round  bullet-head  with 
grey  hair  clipped  short.  His  eyes  held  a  sort 
of  mirth  in  them  and  his  face  broadened  with 
a  grin.  He  had  been  a  humorist  in  his  day 
— had  tapped  and  heeled  for  gentry,  and  been 
licensed  to  say  what  he  liked.  Pauperism 
had  not  made  him  shy,  and,  after  a  moment's 
surprise  and  hesitation,  he  found  his  tongue. 

''There's  nothing  the  matter  wi'  the  sun, 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     223 

that  I  know  of,"  drawled  he,  shading  his  eyes 
to  take  a  glance  at  the  heavens. 

"Well,  Micah,  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  you,  is  there?"  smiled  the  lady  guar- 
dian. 

"  I  don't  know  ! "  growled  he,  for  at  this 
question  his  one  perpetual  grievance  arose  in 
the  old  man's  mind. 

"Then,  Micah,  if  you  don't  know,  it  is 
clearly  impossible  that  any  one  else  can." 

At  this,  Micah,  as  he  afterwards  fully  ex- 
plained to  his  fellow-inmates,  "  up  and  spoke." 

"Well,  miss,"  said  he,  "  I  do  call  it  a  very 
wrong  thing  that  I  can't  go  out.  Not  a  foot 
have  I  set  on  t'other  side  o'  the  garden-wall, 
not  for  so  much  as  a  errand,  not  since  the 
summer  afore  last.  'Tis  a  very  hard  thing, 
and  no  mistake.  A  man,  miss,  is  not  a  calf 
or  a  pig,  to  be  penned  up  all  his  time.  He  do 
want  to  walk  out  round  for  his  recreation. 
An'  I  do  most  terr'ble  want  to  q-o  across  and 
look  at  Sutton  once  more,  for  that's  where  I 
was  born  and  bred.  I  do  long  to  see  the  old 
place  again.  I  do  want  to  see  Bill  Adams 
and  Tommy  Piatt  and  old  Uncle  Huckleby 


224  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  one  or  two  more,  and  eat  a  mouthful  o' 
victuals,  if  'tis  only  out  under  hedge.  What 
harm  could  that  do  anybody  ?  'Tis  but  three 
mile  over  the  hill  if  I  had  but  a  day  out.  I 
could  walk  over  and  spend  an  hour  and  walk 
back  if  'twere  only  of  an  afternoon.  But  the 
Master,  he  do  refuse  to  let  I  out.  He  do  let 
out  some  o'  'em,  his  favourites,  but  not  I.  I 
do  call  it  unjust  to  have  favourites.  I  do  call 
the  man  out  o'  place.  He's  not  a  man  fit 
to  have  charge  o'  poor  folk,  not  Mr.  Stroud, 
the  Master  here.  He's  too  stony  hard  at  the 
heart — that's  what  he  is." 

At  that  moment  a  tall  figure  came  into  the 
doorway.  The  approach  of  Miss  Cann  had 
been  observed  from  the  window,  and  the 
Master  promptly  fetched.  He  saw  her  talk- 
ing to  Micah  Dodge  and  waited. 

"  Get  on  in,  you  double-faced,  flinty  old 
dog !  "  growled  the  old  pauper,  and  sullenly 
returned  to  his  hoeing. 

Miss  Cann  passed  hurriedly  on. 

The  incident  worried  her.  She  was  well 
aware  of  the  fear  and  hatred  with  which 
humble  country  folk  regard  "The  House." 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     225 

Hitherto  she  had  thought  it  only  pride — a 
very  proper  pride,  with  which  she  deeply 
sympathised.  Respectable  poverty  could  not 
bear  to  be  indiscriminately  thrown  with  the 
bad  and  dissolute.  A  human  being,  to  be  sure, 
wants  more  than  food  and  clothing.  A  soul- 
hunger  no  loftier  than  a  yearning  for  Bill 
Adams  and  the  familiar  scenes  of  the  past  has 
its  claims.  It  certainly  seemed  hard  that 
Micah  Dodge  was  not  allowed  an  occasional 
day  to  go  to  Sutton.  All  the  while  that  she  was 
being  shown  over  "  The  House  "  this  thought 
was  in  her  mind.  It  made  her  ear  alert  to 
every  word  the  workhouse  Master  uttered, 
and  even  to  the  changing  tones  of  his  voice. 
She  listened  in  vain  for  any  touch,  even 
slightly  significant,  of  the  hardness  of  which 
Micah  Dodge  had  accused  him. 

Mr.  Stroud,  the  workhouse  Master,  was 
both  tall  and  stout.  He  was  plump  in  the 
face,  fair,  a  trifle  freckled,  and  of  an  almost 
rosy  complexion.  He  wore  a  moustache  that 
was  evidently  well  cared  for,  and  his  smile 
reminded  Miss  Cann  of  an  eminent  tenor 
singer  whom    she  had  recently  heard.     He 


226  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

had  the  appearance  of  one  who  enjoys  life  and 
takes  responsibilities  easily.  That  he  could 
be  firm  seemed  likely  enough,  but  he  looked 
at  things  quite  upon  the  lighter  side.  Miss 
Cann  was  an  eager  questioner.  He  talked  of 
paupers  and  their  ways  with  a  certainty  be- 
gotten of  long  experience,  and  enlivened  his 
conversation  with  now  and  then  an  anecdote 
of  the  casual  ward  or  an  incident  in  the  history 
of  one  of  the  inmates.  Some  of  these  struck 
Miss  Cann  as  painful.  But,  whether  it  were  a 
folly  or  worse,  with  good-humoured  tolerance 
he  always  laughed.  She  reflected  that  a  man 
of  tender  sensibility  would  be  miserable  in 
that  little  world  of  failure  and  misfortune. 

They  came  again  to  the  door  when  her 
visit  was  at  an  end. 

"  Do  these  old  people  sometimes  have  a 
holiday  ?  To  go  home  for  the  day,  for  in- 
stance ?     Or  to  see  their  friends  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  now  and  then,"  said  he,  and 
laughed.  "  But  I  see  old  Micah  has  been  air- 
ing  his  grievance.  He's  very  angry  with  me 
because  I  won't  give  him  leave.  But  there 
are  none  of  his  kin  left  in  the  village,  and  he 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     227 

always  gets  drunk.  He's  a  bit  of  a  character. 
People  talk  to  him  and  stand  him  a  glass,  and 
then  he  is  done  for.  Otherwise  he  might  go, 
for  he's  a  harmless  old  fellow.  He  comes 
back  drunk,  and  kicks  up  a  row  and  sings. 
Last  time  he  did  not  come,  and  we  had  to 
send  out  and  find  him.  So  since  then  he  has 
been  stopped." 

"Is  there  no  chance  for  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It  is  inconvenient, 
and  it's  a  bad  example.  Still,  he  might  have 
one  more  trial." 

"If  he  were  to  promise?"  pleaded  Miss 
Cann  with  sudden  enthusiasm. 

"  He  would  do  that  readily  enough," 
chuckled  the  Master;  "but  no  power  on 
earth  could  make  him  keep  it." 

"  But  he  might  now  that  he  has  been 
punished  ? " 

The  Master  humorously  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "I  suppose  the 
heavens  will  not  fall  if  he  does  not." 

He  walked  down  the  path  to  where  Micah 
Dodge  was  weeding.  The  old  man  did  not 
look  up,  but  kept  steadily  on  with  his  work. 


1 


228  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"Well,  Micah,  this  lady  has  been  kind 
enough  to  ask  me  to  let  "you  out.  But  you 
know  what  happened  before.  Now,  what  am 
I  to  say  ? " 

"I'll  take  good  care  not  to  have  too  much," 
murmured  Micah  in  a  low  voice,  which 
faltered  in  his  anxiety  to  know  how  this  would 
turn  out. 

"  You  must  give  your  word  not  to  touch  a 
drop  !  "  cried  Miss  Cann  with  emphasis. 

The  paupers  on  the  garden-border  stopped 
weeding  to  listen  to  this  little  comedy.  They 
knew  how  it  would  end. 

"No  more  I  won't,  then!"  cried  Micah 
with  determination.  "  I  won't — not  if  all 
Sutton  do  come  out  to  door  'pon  their  bended 
knees  wi'  a  quart  cup  in  each  hand  to  beg  o' 
me  to  drink.      I  won't " 

He  glanced  around  defiantly.  The  fat 
double  chin  of  the  Master  was  shaking  with 
laughter.  On  the  face  of  each  of  his  fellow- 
weeders  was  a  broad  grin.  Only  the  lady 
looked  serious. 

"  I  shall  inquire  the  first  thing  when  next 
I  come,"  said  she. 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     229 

The  old  man's  hand  clutching  the  stem  of 
the  hoe  quivered  like  an  ague.  He  lifted  the 
tool  and  struck  a  blow  that  sent  the  gravel 
flying  upon  the  path. 

"I  won't,  then!"  cried  he.  "Ton  me 
solemn  oath  !     I  won't.    Not  if  I  do  die  for  it." 

There  is  little  to  relieve  the  monotony  of 
life  in  "  The  House,"  and  the  news  that  Micah 
Dodge  was  to  go  out  afforded  great  amuse- 
ment. It  created  more  excitement  than  a 
quarrel,  which,  under  the  circumstances,  must 
invariably  end  in  words.  It  offered  a  problem. 
But  the  subject  of  discussion  was  not  whether 
Micah  would  get  drunk  or  not,  but  how  drunk 
Micah  would  get.  The  paupers  promised 
themselves  great  fun  upon  Micah's  return. 
The  permission  was  postponed  for  "a  long 
summer  day,"  and  until  the  moment  for  his 
departure  they  gave  him  no  peace.  The 
weeders  talked  at  him  by  the  hour  over  their 
work. 

"The  young  lady  have  a-catched  a  mind 
to  Micah,  that's  sure." 

"Anybody  could  see  that  by  the  way  she 
cast  her  eye  'pon  him." 


230  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  But  Micah'll  deceive  the  maid,  an'  that'll 
break  the  heart  o'  her." 

"  I  shall  call  it  a  shameful  thing  then  if  he 
do." 

"  But  'tis  more  than  Micah  can  compass — 
to  hold  the  cup  from  his  lips." 

Micah  laughed  with  the  rest.  He  was  to 
go  out.  That  was  enough  for  him.  But  the 
constant  repetiton  of  the  same  idea,  in  all  the 
varying  forms  that  pauper  wit  could  devise, 
made  a  deep  impression  on  his  mind.  He 
said  little,  but  thought  so  much  the  more. 
Ah  !  they  looked  to  see  him  fetched  in  again. 
Did  they?  They  could  look  till  their  eyes 
did  ache.  They  should  all  be  "proper  a- 
sucked  in."     So  there  ! 

Finally  the  Master  contributed  his  mite 
of  jocular  warning. 

"Very  well,  Micah.  You  can  go  this 
morning.  Now,  take  care  of  yourself  and 
take  care  how  you  behave.  For  next  Board- 
day,  if  there  is  not  a  weed  left  in  the  garden, 
I'll  put  you  out  in  the  front  to  work.  When 
the  lady  comes  she'll  question  you  pretty  well, 
I'll   be  bound.     'Tis  against    my   judgment, 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     231 

Micah.  You  have  to  thank  her.  So  look 
out." 

Micah  caught  sight  of  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
They  were  all  fooling  him,  but  he  was  sharp 
enough  to  understand  that. 

On  the  path,  when  he  came  out,  smiling 
and  ready  to  start,  the  weeders  stopped  him. 
One  of  them  snatched  off  his  hat  and  said  he 
should  not  go.  They  shoved  him  to  and  fro 
in  real  mirth  and  good-fellowship.  They 
pulled  a  spray  of  ivy  from  the  wall,  and  made 
a  wreath  around  the  brim.  They  picked  a 
bunch  or  so  of  the  best  full-blown  flowers  from 
the  laburnum  by  the  gate,  and  added  a  gar- 
land of  "golden  chain."  They  swore  he 
should  not  pass  unless  he  would  take  his  oath 
to  wear  it  all  the  way  to  Sutton. 

But  Micah  was  willing  enough.  Why  not  ? 
He  entered  into  the  joke. 

With  excess  of  joy  his  bow-legs  staggered 
under  him  as  he  hurried  down  the  road,  now 
and  again  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  to 
see  if  he  were  watched.  Silenus — brought 
down  to  pauperism  and  reduced  to  travel  on 
foot. 


232  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

The  sun  was  very  hot,  and  beat  full  on 
Micah's  back  as  he  bent  forward  in   haste. 
The  summer  road  was  half  an  inch  deep  in 
dust,  white  as  flour,  so  fine  that  some  of  it 
arose  from  his  shuffling  footsteps  and  parched 
his  throat.     It  almost  choked  him  when  he 
met  the  flock  of  sheep  in  the  narrow  hollow, 
where  the  banks  are  steep  upon  each  side. 
He  took  off  his  pauper  coat — too  stout  for 
June,  but  chosen   for  wear — and   carried    it 
upon  his  arm.      Never  before  had   the   way- 
seemed  so  long.     The  hill,  where  the  little 
wayside  alehouse  stands  at  the  top,  was  surely 
steeper  than  it  used  to  be.     But  Micah,  in 
his  eagerness  for  Sutton  and  the  companion- 
ship of  Bill  Adams,  was  travelling  too  fast. 
A  furlong  before  he  came  to  the  inn  he  must 
needs  stop.      He  was  breathless.      His  heart 
went    thumping   against    his    ribs.       He  sat 
down  on  the  grass,  with  his  back  against  a 
milestone,  and  rested.      He  had  no  money. 
Only  a  crust  of   bread    and    cheese    in    his 
pocket,  and  he  did  not  want  to  eat  yet.     He 
was  only  dry,  terribly  dry.     But  there  was 
no  water,  not  a  drop,  until  the  little  spring, 


THE  ACORN 

From  a  water-colour  drazving  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     233 

half-way  down  to  the  other  side  of  the  hill. 
To  be  sure,  he  might  beg  for  a  glass  at  the 
"  Cluster  of  Nuts."  Micah  knew  what  would 
happen  then.  The  good  man,  a  thatcher, 
was  for  certain  away  at  work  putting  a  cover 
to  somebody's  early  rick  of  clover  hay,  and 
the  "  missus  "  would  be  at  home  in  an  empty 
house  at  this  time  of  the  day.  A  good  sort, 
the  "missus."  The  right  one  to  go  straight 
to  the  barrel  and  not  to  the  pump.  And  so 
she  ought,  after  the  pounds  he  had  spent  at 
the  "  Cluster  of  Nuts  "  in  years  gone  by.  Yet, 
somewhat  overcome  with  the  heat  and  the 
climb,  for  the  while  Micah  felt  little  inclina- 
tion to  move.  He  sat  there  in  a  day-dream, 
revelling  in  the  imaginary  gratuitous  half- 
pint.  Not  that  he  meant  to  beg  for  it. 
But  the  thing  might  be  done.  He  scarcely 
noticed  the  miller's  waggon  crawling  slowly 
up  the  hill. 

"What,  Micah  Dodge  !    Well,  I'm  blowed  ! 
So  'tis.     Whoa  !  " 

The  carter  stopped  his  team,  came  to  the 
wayside,  and  stood  grinning  at  Micah. 

"Why,  they  did  say  in  the  parish  that  we 


234  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

should    never    set    eyes    on    Micah    Dodge 
again." 

Micah  told  the  old  story  of  his  promise, 
and  all  that  he  had  said  and  done,  and  they 
laughed  together  like  boys. 

Then  the  miller's  carter  looked  serious. 

"Then  I'll  be  dalled  if  I'd  touch  o'  it, 
Micah,"  said  he.  "  For  you  do  know  there's 
more  strength  in  a  pint  than  is  in  your  old 
head.  You  be  such  a  fool,  Micah,  when 
you  be  drunk.  Verily  and  truly,  you  really 
be." 

"  I  be,"  agreed  Micah  sadly. 

"  And  such  a  little  do  do  it,  too." 

"  So  do,"  Micah  sighed.  "  I  won't  for 
one  minute  say  no  different,  for  I  do  know 
do." 

"  Though  'twasn'  always  the  same,  you 
know.  Why,  you  must  ha  poured  down 
rivers  in  your  day,"  said  the  miller's  carter 
cheerfully,  for  the  conversation  had  become 
too  serious  for  a  holiday,  and  he  wanted  to 
hearten  Micah  up. 

"Ho!  rivers  now!"  remonstrated  Micah. 
But  he  was  a  proud  man. 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     235 

The  miller's  carter  laughed  all  over  his 
broad,  dusty  face. 

"There.  Jump  up,  if  you  be  a-minded, 
and  ride  so  far  as  the  four  cross-roads." 

So  Micah  climbed  into  the  waggon,  and, 
enthroned  on  a  white,  floury  sack,  was  carried 
in  safety  beyond  the  dangers  of  the  "  Cluster 
of  Nuts." 

The  four  cross-roads  are  at  the  end  of  the 
village,  with  the  outlying  cottages  in  sight. 
As  Micah  dismounted,  the  clock  in  the  church 
tower  was  striking  noon.  On  the  last  stroke 
he  heard  the  shouts  of  the  children  rushing 
out  of  school,  and  presently  he  met  the  little 
human  stream  racing  and  eddying  down 
Sutton  Street  like  a  summer  brook  on  a 
broad  river  bed. 

At  sight  of  Micah  the  children  came 
running-  towards  him.  The  golden  chains 
around  his  hat  were  sadly  drooping,  and 
high-road  dust  whitened  the  shining  ivy- 
leaves.  Yet  they  gave  Micah  a  bacchana- 
lian appearance,  and  many  of  the  children 
had  known  him  before.  At  once  he  was 
the  centre  of  a  noisy  group  shouting,  "  Hallo, 


236  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Micah — Micah  Dodge  !  "  The  phrase  was 
piped  in  an  infinity  of  treble  tones,  and 
Micah,  joining  in  the  merriment,  turned 
round  and  shouted  also.  He  even  tripped 
a  bit  of  a  jig,  such  as  he  used  to  dance  with 
pride  of  an  evening  on  the  alehouse  kitchen 
floor.  Then,  at  the  head  of  a  little  crowd, 
he  went  on  his  way  down  the  street.  Folk 
popped  out  of  door  and  ran  to  the  garden- 
hatch  to  find  out  what  new  diversion  was 
afoot  in  the  parish. 

"Lor!  'Tis  only  old  Micah  Dodge,  after 
all ! "  shouted  young  John  Brook's  wife,  a 
stout  matron,  with  two  children  clinging  to 
her  skirts,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
"  And  drunk  already  !  " 

Micah  heard.  Angry  at  the  false  accusa- 
tion, he  made  haste  to  contradict  a  statement 
so  uncalled  for.  The  neighbours  all  came 
round. 

"'Tis  a  wrong  and  wicked  thing  to  say, 
Anna  Maria  Brook !  I  tell  ee  I  don't  drink 
now  !  "  exclaimed  he  warmly. 

"  What  ?  And  you  never  so  much  as 
blowed  the  froth  off  of  a  half  a  pint  at  the 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     237 

1  Cluster  of  Nuts '  ? "  demanded  young  John 
Brook's  wife,  holding  up  a  warning  finger, 
for  she  had,  if  possible,  to  make  good  her 
statement. 

"  Not  a  drop !  "  cried  Micah,  with  growing 
indignation. 

He  defied  Anna  Maria  Brook  to  prove  her 
words  in  a  tone  that,  from  a  man  with  money, 
would  have  been  understood  to  threaten 
law.  He  challenged  Anna  Maria  Brook  to 
smell  his  breath. 

Public  opinion,  that  is  to  say  Selina  Jane 
Edwards,  the  Widow  Teape,  old  Betsy 
Mogridge,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  recog- 
nising that  under  the  circumstances  Anna 
Maria  could  do  no  less,  supported  the  sug- 
gestion, and  the  sober  condition  of  Micah 
was  at  once  firmly  established. 

But  how  had  so  strange  a  thing  been 
brought  about  ? 

When  Micah  told  of  the  intercession  of  the 
lady  guardian,  there  was  but  one  opinion  : 
If  Micah  by  any  chance  should  go  home 
drunk,  the  Master  would  have  the  laugh 
over  Miss  Cann,  sure  enough. 


238  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  You  never  mustn't  do  it,  mind  that." 

"For  that's  to  hold  both  she  an'  Sutton 
up  to  scorn.     So  there  !  " 

The  women  of  Sutton  unconsciously  set 
themselves  to  protect  the  sobriety  of  Micah 
Dodge. 

"  Now,  march  on,  all  you  children,  and 
leave  Mr.  Dodge  alone,"  cried  Selina  Jane 
Edwards  with  sudden  sharpness.  "  And  you 
walk  round,  Micah,  and  see  anybody  you've 
got  to  see.  If  you  come  back  down  street 
after  a  bit,  I'll  make  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"An'  I'll  find  ee  a  bit  o'  nice  hot  cake," 
piped  the  Widow  Teape. 

"Now,  who  do  ee  want  to  see,  Micah?" 
asked  Anna  Maria  Brook. 

"  The  most  partic'larest,"  began  Micah 
slowly,  "  is  old  Uncle  Huckleby."  His  face 
brightened  with  anticipation.  "  I  did  want 
to  have  a  word  with  Uncle  Huckleby." 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  little  crowd.  Then, 
ekeing  out  the  solemn  news  in  fragments, 
one  after  another,  they  spoke  in  whispers — 

"  But,  Micah,  haven't  you  heard  ? " 

"Old  Mr.  Huckleby  is  gone." 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     239 

"  He's  dead,  Micah." 

"  And  buried." 

Uncle  Huckleby  dead  and  buried!  The 
crowning  pleasure  of  this  visit  to  Sutton 
was  to  have  been  a  yarn  with  old  Uncle 
Huckleby.     That  was  the  very  heart  and  soul 

of  the  expedition.      For  Uncle  Huckleby 

Well,  old  Uncle  Huckleby  carried  a  tongue 
in  his  head.  He  always  had.  What  Uncle 
Huckleby  would  not  have  told  was  not  worth 
telling.  Nobody  ever  had  such  a  gift  for 
talk  as  he. 

Micah  did  not  exactly  feel  regret.  He 
was  too  overcome  with  surprise  and  wonder. 
A  frown  of  perplexity  puckered  his  forehead. 
Then  he  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  deep 
wrinkles  rose  in  semicircular  arches  under 
the  drooping  laburnum  flowers. 

Micah  spoke  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance, 
as  if  he  would  argue  the  matter,  both  as  to 
the  fact  and  the  rightship  of  such  a  thing. 

"  But  Uncle  Huckleby  was  no  age.  No 
age  at  all.  There  was  but  a  year,  or  maybe 
two,  between  him  and  me." 

"  He  do  lie  t'other  side  o'  the  old   yew  ; 


24o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

nice  dry  grave,  so  they  all  said,"  said  Anna 
Maria  Brook,  in  a  tone  at  once  practical 
and  consoling. 

"  But  who  besides,  Micah  ? " 

"There's  old  Bill  Adams " 

"  He  don't  bide  to  Sutton  now.  He  had 
nobody  to  keep  un,  so  he  were  fetched  away 
home  to  his  own  parish." 

"There's  Tommy  Piatt.     He " 

"  No,  no!  Tommy  is  out  in  Mr.  William 
Purchase's  hayfield.  But  Tommy's  in  drink. 
Keep  away  therefrom,  Micah  Dodge  ;  do  ye 
now.  Don't  ee  go  near  the  cider,  there's  a 
good  man.  Now,  do  ee  take  a  walk  round 
parish  and  see  what  you  can  see." 

Thus  encouraged,  Micah  started  on  his 
melancholy  quest.  He  looked  in  at  the 
forge.  It  was  empty,  for  the  smith  was 
away  in  the  hayfield  "pomstering"  up  a 
mowing-machine. 

"  Hallo,  Micah  Dodge  !     Is  that  you  ?  " 

Mr.  William  Purchase  called  from  the  field 
hard  by.  He  was  on  horseback,  leaning 
forward  to  open  the  gate  into  the  road. 
Micah  ran  forward  to  lend  a  hand. 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     241 

Mr.  William  Purchase  laughed  all  over  his 
broad,  red  face.  Having  been  a  guardian, 
he  knew  something  of  the  past. 

"  So  they've  let  you  out  once  more  ?  " 

Micah  nodded  assent. 

"  But  what's  the  matter  ?  You  do  bear 
a  very  downcast  countenance,  by  all  appear- 
ance." 

"Nothing,"  answered  Micah. 

Mr.  William  Purchase  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  breeches-pocket. 

"  Well,  here's  a  copper.  Now,  take  care 
what  you  are  about.  Don't  get  drunk. 
Mind  that." 

And  he  laughed  as  he  cantered  away  up 
the  lane  to  his  hayfield. 

Micah  stood  in  the  road. 

"Tuppence-ha'penny,"  muttered  he,  as 
he  counted  over  the  money  on  his  palm. 
He  put  the  coins  carefully  away  to  purchase 
an  ounce  of  the  old  sort  of  baccy  at  the 
village  shop. 

To  be  sure,  with  old  Uncle  Huckleby  gone 

to  his  long  rest,  and  Bill  Adams  consigned 

to  a  distant  workhouse,  there   was    nothing 
16 


242  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

to  be  doing,  yet  Micah   enjoyed  a  strange, 
doubtful  pleasure  whilst  standing  there  alone. 
The    indelible    impressions    of  happy   child- 
hood came  looming  through  the  fog  of  later, 
foolish,  unsuccessful  years.     Old  things  be- 
came oddly  familiar  in  a    most    unexpected 
way,  and  set  Micah  talking  to  himself,  but 
always  in  a  tone  of  surprise.      "  Ay.     There's 
the  old  church,  sure  enough.      Ho,  he  ha'n't 
a-moved,    not    so    much    as    an    inch !      An' 
there's  the  little  house,  wi'  the   winder  just 
the  same.      Lord  A'mighty  !  what  thousands 
o'  pairs  o'  soles  I  have  a-tapped  and  heeled 
in  that  same  little  winder !     And  there's  the 
pond " 

Suddenly,  from  the  lane,  came  the  sound 
of  a  voice,  now  truculent  and  cursing,  then 
carelessly  singing  in  snatches — 

"  Then  I  hope  an'  trust  the  rain'll  fall,  and 
your  beastly  old  hay  can  rot !  Then  fare 
ye  well,  my  black-eyed  Sue.  You  old  nip- 
cheese  !  Begrudge  a  man  a  quart  o'  cider  ? 
When  you  could  you  would  not ;  now  you 
will.  What!  Micah  Dodge?  Old  Micah 
Dodee " 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     243 

Micah  understood.  Tommy  Piatt,  being 
in  drink,  had  been  sent  home.  He  was 
cursing  Mr.  William  Purchase  for  this  public 
humiliation,  yet  giving  expression  to  his 
independence  in  song. 

He  staggered  into  the  road  and  took  Micah 
by  the  arm. 

"Come  on,  Micah!  I  do  know  Micah 
Dodge — old  Micah  Dodge  the  cobbler  !  Come 
on,  old  man,  down  to  '  The  Acorn,'  and  I'll — 
I'll  chalk  up  a  pint !  " 

"The  Acorn?"  Micah  felt  a  yearning  to  look 
once  more  at  the  inside  of  "  The  Acorn,"  with 
its  upright  oaken  settle  and  sanded  floor.  He 
suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  on  by  Tommy 
Piatt,  though  they  were  often  in  danger  of 
rolling  over  each  other.  But  at  the  sound  of 
the  noise  and  singing,  all  the  folk  again  ran 
out.  Then  Micah  felt  shame  of  his  company, 
remembering  what  had  been  said.  He  shook 
himself  free. 

"  I — J  don't  drink  !  "  he  stammered. 

"  That's  a  fine  tale !  Come  on,  you  old 
fool " 

"  I  don't  touch  it  now  !  " 


244  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  You  shall  have  a  pint,  I  tell  ee.  What  ? 
You  won't  ?  When  you  could  you  would 
not ;  now  —  you're  too  proud,  I  s'pose  ? 
Live  retired,  eh?  Into  'The  House,'  eh? 
Then  get  on  home,  you  high-stomached 
old  pauper  !  So  fare  ye  well,  my  black-eyed 
Sue ! " 

Tommy  Piatt  reeled  on  alone.  The  parish 
watched  him  out  of  sight,  and  quickly  dis- 
appeared indoors  again.  The  street  became 
empty  of  every  moving  thing  ;  there  was  not 
a  sound  of  voice  or  wheels  or  footstep.  But 
for  the  whistling:  of  a  blackbird  in  a  cage  hang- 
ing  against  the  wall  by  the  bakehouse,  the 
village  would  have  been  as  quiet  as  a  suburb 
of  the  city  of  the  dead. 

Micah  sighed.  He  had  been  pretty  well 
shaken  by  Tommy  Piatt,  and  his  breath  was 
short. 

Baker  Heath  dragged  out  his  two-wheeled 
cart,  and  set  the  shafts  level  upon  a  trestle, 
ready  to  pack  his  bread.  Micah  strolled  down 
to  have  a  look  at  the  blackbird  and  a  word 
with  the  baker's  man  as  he  went  to  and  fro, 
bringing  out  loaves.     The  warm  air  of  the 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     245 

bakehouse  came  heavy  laden  with  reminis- 
cence. How  many  an  errand  he  had  run  to 
that  place  when  he  was  a  child !  And  how 
his  mother  had  slapped  him  when  he  picked 
the  loaf!  Yet  he  always  picked.  He  never 
could  help  it,  even  after  she  kept  a  stick  on 
purpose  to  meet  the  crime. 

Again  he  longed  for  that  little,  brittle 
corner  crust. 

The  craving  grew  upon  him  stronger  than 
for  the  drink.  He  went  in  and  bought  a  half- 
loaf,  crisp  and  brown  upon  the  top,  but  hot 
and  steaming  from  the  oven.  He  crept  away 
with  it  under  his  arm  to  a  shed  behind  the 
bakehouse,  where  the  four-wheeled  van  that 
went  the  longer  journeys  was  sheltered  from 
rain  and  sun.  He  climbed  up  and  sat  in, 
out  of  sight. 

None  of  your  workhouse  bread  to-day ! 
Bought  by  tender  and  supplied  by  contract. 
Why,  every  inmate  in  "  The  House  "  grum- 
bled that  it  was  sour. 

He  pulled  off  the  crust,  he  tore  apart  the 
middle,  moist  and  clinging  like  tripe.  It  was 
sweet  as  a  nut  and  soft  as  a  bun.      It  was  so 


246  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

good  that  he  grew  hungry  upon  it.     And  so 
Micah  ate — and  ate. 

Miss  Cann  was  at  the  seaside  on  a  summer 
holiday.  She  ran  up  to  Oldbury  by  train  and 
went  straight  to  "  The  House  "  on  the  day  of 
the  next  Board  meeting,  and,  finding  herself 
with  some  minutes  to  spare,  she  remembered 
Micah,  and  went  to  inquire  of  the  Master. 

11  And  has  the  old  man  had  his  day  out  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  an  air  of  genial  expectation. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  he  has  had  his  day !  " 

But  the  answer  sounded  short.  It  awak- 
ened suspicion  in  the  mind  of  Miss  Cann. 

"  Did  he  behave  himself? " 

"Yes." 

"  And  come  home  sober?  " 

"  But  haven't  you  heard,  or  read  the  account 
of  it  in  the  weekly  paper  ?  " 

"  No  ;   I  have  been  away." 

"Yes;  he  came  home  sober  —  he  was 
brought  in  dead ! " 

"Dead!     How— dead?" 

"There  had  to  be  an  inquest,  of  course." 

"Yes?" 


THE  SOBRIETY  OF  MICAH  DODGE     247 

"  The  verdict  was  '  Syncope,  following  an 
excessive  indulgence  in  new  bread.' ' 

"  But  what  did  he  do?" 

"  Oh,  it  all  came  out  before  the  jury.  He 
kept  his  word.  He  told  the  village  about  it, 
and  would  not  touch  a  drop.  He  had  a  weak 
heart,  it  seems.  The  jurors  kept  asking 
questions.  The  doctor  said  in  court  that  a 
little  stimulant  might  have  saved  him.  I 
ought  never  to  have  let  him  out.  Now  the 
country  tale  is  that  we  starve  the  paupers 
here." 

The  Master  turned  away.  Miss  Cann  went 
into  the  Board-room.  At  that  meeting  she  did 
not  speak.  She  sat  reflecting  upon  the  irony 
that  sometimes  lies  in  wait  upon  the  path  of 
o-ood  intentions  to  mock  at  a  kind  deed. 

But  Captain  Kennedy  Cann  was  deeply 
moved  by  this  incident.  He  wrote  a  poem, 
short,  it  is  true,  telling  the  story  in  simple 
words  but  full  of  emotion,  each  verse  ending 
with  this  touching  refrain  : — 

"  So  lacking  one  thing  Micah  went, 
A  little  stimulant." 


CHAPTER   XX 

A  QUEEN  OF  CURDS  AND  WHEY 

The  new  Squire's  new  dairy  stands  apart  from 
the  picturesque  group  of  buildings  to  which  it 
belongs.  But  it  is  even  more  remote  in  spirit 
than  in  fact.  Its  stones,  fresh  from  the  quarry 
at  the  base  of  Beacon  Hill,  are  brighter  and 
cleaner  than  any  of  the  ancient  walls  from 
which  it  holds  aloof.  The  mark  of  time  is  not 
yet  set  upon  it.  No  ivy  climbs  to  lift  its  new 
red  tiles,  as  it  has  done  with  some  of  the 
heavier  slabs  of  stone  which  roof  the  barn. 
No  creeper  clothes  it  or  even  makes  advances, 
as  do  the  honeysuckle  and  the  cabbage  rose 
east  and  west  of  the  dwelling,  where  they  have 
turned  the  corners  of  the  old  lean-to  dairy 
which  no  longer  knows  the  scent  of  curd. 
There  is  not  a  crevice  in  which  fern  or  yellow 
stonecrop  can  take  root,  or  a  dusty  chink  to 


A  QUEEN  OF  CURDS  AND  WHEY       249 

hold  the  red  valerian  that  brightens  the  garden 
wall  and  lies  reflected  in  the  horse-pond  be- 
low. Only  the  Tudor  labels  over  the  win- 
dows, repeating  a  feature  of  the  old  home- 
stead, link  the  Squire's  new  dairy  with  the 
past.  In  company  with  undulating  roofs  and 
crumbling  gables  it  holds  itself  square  and 
sharp-edged,  another  step  in  the  triumphal 
advance  of  science  over  empiricism. 

Mrs.  Dark's  exposition  of  cheese-making 
had  satisfied  my  hunger  for  knowledge.  The 
more  subtle  technicalities  of  the  art  offered  no 
allurement.  Truth  demands  the  admission 
that  my  visit  to  the  new  dairy  was  entirely  to 
see  "our  Ursie."  A  maiden  only  "in  her 
one-an'-twenty,"  born  of  "a  doer"  and  a 
quiet  man,  yet  a  talker,  and  thus  giving  flat 
contradiction  to  the  law  of  heredity,  is  one 
to  awaken  a  secret  sentiment.  Candour 
demands  the  admission,  I  went  to  see  Ursie. 

It  was  evening,  and  one  of  the  milk-carts  had 
just  driven  home  from  the  field.  Two  men 
were  lifting  a  large  tin  churn  to  pour  the  sweet 
milk  through  a  filter  into  the  small  conduit 
which  carries  it  through  the  dairy  wall.     The 


250  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Squire's  young  bailiff,  a  smart  young  man  with 
a  fine  moustache  and  a  jaunty  air  of  having 
been  to  the  war,  was  keeping  an  eye  on  the 
proceedings.  "  Miss  Dark  ?  Oh  yes,  you'll 
find  her  inside."  He  stepped  forward  and 
opened  the  door.  His  neck  is  strong,  his 
shoulders  well  set  up.  The  man  is  a  sergeant 
of  yeomanry,  I  suspect. 

Miss  Dark  was  standing  with  one  hand  on 
the  rim  of  the  orlistenino-  cheese-tub  as  the 
stream  of  milk  came  foaming  in.  The  walls 
of  the  dairy  are  white.  The  floor  is  of  a  pale- 
grey  concrete  and  smooth  as  a  sheet  of  cream- 
laid  paper.  The  windows  face  the  north,  and 
only  late  of  a  summer  evening  may  one  slant- 
ing ray  of  sunlight  glint  across  the  bottles,  the 
"  what-ee-call  " and  the  "thingumbob  "  ranged 
on  one  of  the  sills.  "Our  Ursie"  is  taller 
than  her  mother.  The  hope  of  future  portli- 
ness, justified  by  her  upright  bearing  and  the 
ripe  curves  of  her  bust,  only  adds  a  richness 
to  the  glory  of  her  perfect  youth.  She  wore  a 
summer  frock  the  colour  of  ripe  barley,  with  a 
smocked  yoke  ;  and  above  it,  against  the  pale 
background,  the  head  of  "  our  Ursie  "  was  as 


A  QUEEN  OF  CURDS  AND  WHEY       251 

strikingly  bright  as  a  single  poppy  against  a 
grey  sky  above  a  field  of  corn.  Her  dark 
hair  was  rolled  back  from  her  forehead  and 
crowned  with  a  comb.  Her  cheeks,  as  a 
maid's  should  be  "in  her  one-and-twenty," 
were  the  colour  of  the  morning,  and  her  eyes 
as  merry  as  twinkling  stars.  "  Our  Ursie," 
to  my  mind,  is  enthroned  on  the  very  summit 
of  the  dairy-business — a  veritable  "  Queen  of 
Curds  and  Whey." 

"  Mother  told  me  to  look  out  for  somebody 
— oh  !  a  month  ago,"  laughed  she. 

"  I  have  delayed  too  long." 

"  She  said  a  pupil." 

"  That  is  exactly  it." 

"  But  you've  come  at  the  wrong  time.  No. 
I  don't  quite  mean  that.  We  have  almost 
finished." 

"  But  you  must  regard  this  as  a  visit 
preliminary  to  a  prolonged  course  of 
instruc " 

When  Her  Majesty  laughs  all  sorts  of  dim- 
ples come  upon  her  cheeks  and  ripple  around 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Her  mirth  suffers 
no  restraint.     It  is  audible  at  a  distance  like 


252  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

a  peal  of  bells.     The  sergeant  stepped  in  and 
fetched  a  bucket. 

"All  utensils  are  scalded  out  with  steam. 
Bacteria  can't  stand  that,"  she  explained, 
serious  for  the  first  time. 

The  flood  had  ceased.  She  glanced  at 
a  thermometer  hanging  against  the  wall, 
plunged  her  arms  into  the  milk,  and,  talking 
the  while,  gently  stirred  it  around. 

"The  milk  has  to  be  kept  moving.  Of 
course  the  whole  process  of  cheese-making 
depends  on  Bacilli  acidi  lactici " 

"  Of  course." 

Smiling,  she  continued,  "  They  have  a  way 
of  sinking  to  the  bottom  and  then  the  ripen- 
ing of  the  evening  milk  is  not  so  satisfactory. 
I  try  to  explain  this  to  mother,  but  she  only 
says,  '  Don't  you  tell  your  mother  no  stories 
now. 

"But  she  stirs  also." 

"That's  because  grannie  did." 

"  Then  she  won't  accept  the  bacillus  ? " 

"  Well,  she  doesn't  see  the  need  of  it. 
She  says  folk  stirred  before  any  bacillus  came 
about." 


A  QUEEN  OF  CURDS  AND  WHEY       253 

Again  the  laughter  rang  out. 

The  sergeant  brought  back  the  bucket  but 
retired  immediately. 

She  dipped  milk  from  the  tub  and  carried 
it  to  the  window-sill.  To  save  time  she 
sucked  it  into  the  receptacle  of  a  pipette,  let 
it  flow  until  the  required  measure  was  accu- 
rately reached,  and  stopped  the  pressure  of  air 
by  covering  the  tube  with  her  finger.  She 
poured  it  into  a  phial,  took  a  bottle  from  the 
sill,  and,  having  added  two  or  three  drops  of 
colourless  fluid,  placed  the  mixture  under  the 
drip  of  the  acidimeter. 

"  This  is  the  soda  test,"  said  she.  "In  the 
phial  are  10  cubic  centimetres  of  milk,  with 
a  couple  of  drops  of  phenol-phthalein,  which 
becomes  red  if  an  alkali  is  put  with  it.  In  the 
graduated  glass  vessel  of  the  acidimeter  is  a 
solution  of  sodium  hydrate  of  a  strength  that 
each  cubic  centimetre  will  neutralise  a  certain 
quantity  of  lactic  acid.  The  soda  drops  in 
very  slowly  indeed  and  gives  the  milk  a  red 
tint.  You  have  to  shake  it,  of  course.  But 
at  the  point  when  the  red  colour  becomes 
permanent  the  lactic  acid  is  neutralised,  and 


254  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

so,  you  see,  you  know.  It  is  really  very  in- 
teresting." 

"  It  is  of  engrossing  interest,"  said  I. 

"  I  have  tried  to  explain  it  to  mother. 
There  is  no  need  to  understand,  if  she  would 
only  use  the  apparatus.  But  she  won't.  Still, 
mother  is  a  real  wonder,  mind." 

I  understood  how  "  our  Ursie  "  obtained  her 
reputation  as  a  talker.  Meanwhile  the  in- 
vestigation was  complete.  She  drew  water 
from  a  tap  close  by  to  cleanse  the  pipette  by 
filling  and  blowing  it  empty  again.  Her 
mother  was  right.  "  Our  Ursie  "  is  a  good- 
looking  girl — a  very  striking  girl.  J  ust  as  her 
cheeks  were  drawn  in,  with  the  effort  of  suck- 
ing, our  eyes  met  and  she  laughed  again. 

"  This  reminds  me  of  the  songabout  sucking 
cider  through  a  straw,"  said  I. 

"  I  know  that  song,"  cried  she. 

"  But  alas !  there  seems  to  be  no  accom- 
modation for  two." 

"  There  is  none." 

I  never  saw  merrier  eyes  in  my  life.  They 
are  honest  too,  and  not  afraid  to  look  you  in 
the  face. 


A  QUEEN  OF  CURDS  AND  WHEY       255 

"That  seems  a  pity,"  I  lamented. 

"  But  you  may  take  a  turn  with  the  pipette." 

Just  at  that  moment  that  fellow  came  in. 

Her  Majesty  went  back  to  her  tub  and 
stirred  the  milk  again.  He  came  to  talk  to 
me,  trying  to  make  himself  agreeable  with 
mere  banality  about  the  weather  and  the 
crops.  When  you  come  to  look  at  him 
closer,  he  has — well,  a  look  of  extraordinary 
physical  well-being.  Really  more  than  his 
share.  A  strong  man  without  doubt.  What 
many  would  call  "a  fine  man."  If  he  does 
not  take  care  he  will  be  more  than  portly 
after  middle  age. 

As  cheese-making  was  finished  for  that 
evening,  I  took  my  leave,  saying  I  would  con- 
tinue my  studies  at  a  more  convenient  time. 

"  Do,"  cried  she,  with  willing  good-nature. 

"  It  goes  on  every  day  alike  all  through  the 
summer,"  explained  the  sergeant.  The  man 
is  so  exempt  from  every  disturbance,  physical, 
mental  or  spiritual,  that  he  carries  a  perpetual 
smile.  A  little  wearisome,  I  think,  such 
everlasting  contentment. 

I  took  a  long  walk  in  the  dusk  that  evening 


256  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  returned  to  Sutton  Street  by  way  of  the 
fields  by  Dairyman's  house.  In  the  twilight 
I  heard  laughter  and  saw  dim  figures  coming 
towards  me.  There  were  two  of  them — a 
man  and  a  girl,  but  it  was  already  too  dark  for 
recognition. 

"  Good-night,"  cried  a  voice  that  sounded 
familiar. 

"Oh,  good-night,  Miss  Dark." 

"Good-night,"  said  he. 

The  young  bailiff  was  seeing  home  my 
Queen  of  Curds  and  Whey. 

During  supper  I  informed  Mrs.  Josiah 
Heppell  where  I  had  been. 

"  Miss  Dark  is  a  very  handsome  girl," 
said  I. 

"  What,  Ursie  Dark  ?  Ah,  she's  a  merry 
maid,  an'  a  good-looking  maid,  an'  a  good 
maid  too,"  said  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  An'  if  you  had  a- went  to  church 
o'  Sunday,  you'd  a-heard  her  banns  a- 
published  first  time  o'  asken." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  HOOPMAKER 

In  the  solitude  of  the  wood,  not  far  from 
where  the  great  oak  was  felled,  is  a  hut,  so 
simple  in  all  its  contrivances  that  from  a 
distance  it  looks  like  the  dwelling  of  some 
primitive  man.  Closer  inspection,  however, 
proves  it  to  be  the  shed  of  a  hoopmaker,  and 
leaning  against  the  lower  branch  of  an  oak 
tree,  by  which  it  stands,  is  his  store  of  slender 
rods — the  only  raw  material  of  his  humble 
industry. 

Although  it  was  late  in  the  season  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  find  the  man  at  work. 
I  have  not  learnt  his  name.  He  is  not  "one 
o'  Sutton,"  but  comes  from  a  village  on  the 
other  side  of  the  wood.  Hoopmaking  is  a 
winter  trade  ;  but  it  sometimes  lasts  well  into 
the  summer,  until  the  rods  become  dry  and 
17 


258  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

too  brittle  to  be  sufficiently  pliable  for  the 
purpose.  There  had  been  a  rainy  spring,  and 
this  year  he  was  enabled  to  continue  much 
longer  than  usual. 

All  the  trees  were  now  in  full  leaf  and  a 
dappled  shade  fell  upon  the  flowers.  It  was 
getting  on  for  noon.  The  birds  had  all 
mated  and  were  nesting.  Many  had  hatched 
their  first  broods,  and  were  too  busy  for  song. 
For  a  few  hours  in  the  middle  of  the  day  a 
hush  falls  upon  the  wood.  There  is  no  sound 
but  the  constant  hum  of  insect  life  and  the 
soft  rustle  of  leaves.  Such  was  the  pleasant 
home  of  this  woodland  industry  seen  at  its 
best  on  a  sunny  day  in  early  summer.  In 
the  north  wind  of  December,  with  a  fire  of 
sticks  to  unfreeze  the  rods,  or  with  the  grey 
rain  of  February  dripping  from  every  twig, 
the  picture  would  be  different. 

The  "  hoop-house,"  for  so  it  is  called,  is  built 
of  poles  chosen  from  among  the  copsewood, 
with  lesser  poles  for  slanting  rafters,  and 
covered  with  "  chips  " — long  shavings  made 
in  paring  the  hoops  to  a  proper  thickness. 
These  had  been  cast  up  quite  loosely,  and 


THE  HOOPMAKER  259 

without  any  art  at  all  corresponding  to 
that  of  the  old-fashioned  small  holder  who 
thatched  his  little  rick  with  sedge.  To  the 
eye  of  the  ignorant  such  a  roof  appeared 
incapable  of  keeping  out  even  a  passing 
shower.  The  hoopmaker,  however,  dismissed 
any  such  doubt  with  confidence. 

"  Chips  ?  Oh  ay,  chips  be  weather-tight. 
Why,  chips,  in  a  manner  o'  speaken,  that  is 
to  say  if  he  had  a-chanced  to  a-had  'em, 
which,  to  be  sure,  he  never  couldn'  a-had,  'ood 
ha'  made  a  roof  for  Noah's  ark." 

Pleased  with  my  ready  acceptance  of  this 
statement,  he,  as  it  were,  asked  me  in  and 
made  me  welcome — so  welcome  that  I  at 
once  paced  his  hoop-house  and  found  it  16  ft. 
by  10  ft.  But  there  has  to  be  furniture  in  a 
hoopmaker's  hut,  and  room  to  turn  round  as 
well. 

"  Noo  man  liven  can't  make  hoops  'ithout 
room.  You  mus'  ha'  a  table — an'  a  hoss — 
and  a  pin-pwost.  You've  a-got  to  make  'em 
all  your  own  self,  an'  put  up  your  shed  too. 
I  do  make  all  I  do  make  use  o',  'cepts  'tis  the 
cutten-tools — my  hook,   my  adze,  my  spoke- 


260  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

shave,  an'  my  whimble-piece.  They  be  all 
boughten  tools,  they  be.  Oh  !  Well,  there 
— 'tis  all  very  handy  for  me  own  use  like  ; 
but  there's  noo  little  parlour  for  company. 
Ha,  ha !  But  I  don't  never  get  so  very 
much  company  out  here.  No,  no.  Not  so 
very  much.      Ha,  ha  !  " 

He  was  a  very  genial  old  man,  and  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  At  such 
unexpected  sound  of  voices  a  wren  flew  out 
from  the  roof.  The  little  birds,  naturally  so 
shy  as  to  their  nesting,  had  built  within  the 
hut  not  more  than  3  ft.  above  the  head  of  the 
hoopmaker  whenever  his  work  brought  him 
to  the  table.  But  birds  seem  to  have  an 
instinctive  knowledge  of  the  harmlessness  of 
a  man  well  occupied.  Rooks,  that  rise  from 
the  plenty  of  a  newly  sown  field  of  corn  long 
before  an  approaching  figure  can  get  within 
gunshot,  will  follow  the  new-turned  furrow 
and  circle  close  above  the  ploughman  and  his 
team. 

"Company!  Why,  there's  a  wren's  nest 
in  the  roof." 

"An'  that's  true,"  laughed    he.      "  She've 


THE  HOOPMAKER  261 

a-got  eggs  noo  doubt,  though  I  never  didden 
gie  a  thought  to  put  my  vinger  in  to  see. 
They  mus'  be  just  a-gwaine  to  hatch  out  in 
all  likelihood.  There  !  She  don't  hurt  I.  I 
don't  hurt  she.      Ha,  ha  !  " 

His  grey  eyes  twinkled,  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  turned  up,  and  his  red,  weather- 
beaten  cheeks  creased  and  puckered  around 
his  cheek-bones.  There  was  an  unsuspected 
joke  under  the  most  commonplace  utterance 
of  this  merry  old  boy. 

"  But  now,  maybe  you'd  like  vor  to  see 
how  hoops  be  a-made  vrom  start  to  finish. 
Ha,  ha!" 

He  led  the  way  to  his  store  of  rods  out- 
side the  hut  and  selected  three.  This  was 
evidently  to  be  a  show  performance,  for  he 
had  suddenly  become  solemn.  There  was  a 
post  driven  firmly  into  the  ground  of  a  height 
convenient  to  serve  as  a  chopping-block  ;  and 
another  some  6  in.  in  stature  at  a  little  dis- 
tance to  serve  as  a  measuring-point. 

"  I  be  to  work  'pon  six  foot,"  he  explained, 
as  he  measured  the  rod  in  his  left  hand. 

This  done,  he  raised  it  level  upon  the  block 


262  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  chopped.  Then  he  trimmed  off  the  knots 
smooth  with  the  rind.  He  carefully  split  the 
rods,  not  with  his  hook,  but  with  the  afore- 
said adze,  thus  of  the  three  making  material 
for  six  hoops.  His  leathern  apron  was  neces- 
sary to  protect  his  clothes  from  the  friction 
of  the  rods,  which  he  now  carried  to  his  "  pin- 
pwost." 

The  pin-post  was  a  good  stiff  post  set  firmly 
in  the  ground  close  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  which 
served  as  one  of  the  supports  to  the  hut,  and 
to  which  it  was  firmly  withed  at  the  top.  At 
about  the  height  of  a  man's  waist,  driven  into 
the  post,  were  two  large  wooden  pins,  the 
lower  projecting  some  inches  beyond  the 
higher.  Through  the  narrow  space  between 
them  the  hoopmaker  passed  each  split  rod, 
steadying  it  upon  a  shorter  post.  The  elas- 
ticity of  the  stick  made  the  grip  secure.  Then 
he  shaved  it  to  an  appropriate  thinness  with 
his  spokeshave.  Some  of  the  shavings, 
"chips,"  as  he  called  them,  were  2  ft.  long. 
He  had  been  at  work  for  some  hours,  and  a 
large  heap  of  them  lay  at  the  front  of  his  pin- 
post. 


HAYMAKING 

From  a  •water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


THE  HOOPMAKER  263 

He  left  the  six  hoops  for  a  minute,  to  clear 
these  away  with  as  homely  a  tool  as  any  lover 
of  simple,  old-world  appliances  could  wish  to 
meet  with.  If  primitive  man  ever  made  hay 
he  must  have  turned  it  with  such  a  fork.  The 
corn  found  in  lake  villages  may  have  been 
pitched  with  something  like  it.  It  came  from 
close  at  hand  in  the  wood,  a  straight  sapling 
with  a  natural  fork,  and  a  willow  band  withed 
to  and  fro  across  the  prongs  to  strengthen 
them.  A  third  prong  at  right  angles  to  the 
other  had  been  nailed  to  the  stem  to  keep  the 
"chips"  from  slipping.  The  prongs  were 
about  2  ft.  in  length  and  the  stem  another 
5  ft.  to  6  ft.  It  was  entirely  home-made, 
with  no  metal  but  the  nails.  But  this  was 
none  of  your  cutting  "  bough  ten  "  tools.  As 
to  the  chips  themselves — some  are  sold  and 
the  rest  the  various  workers  in  the  wood  take 
for  firing. 

The  true  hoopmaking  began  on  the  "horse," 
a  very  high  trestle  with  a  rounded  back.  This 
also  was  withed  to  one  of  the  uprights.  On 
the  side  away  from  him  the  split  rod  was  held 
down  by  a  bar,  and   he    pushed  it  forward, 


264  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

bending  it  all  the  while  over  the  round  of  the 
horse.  When  the  end  away  from  him  pro- 
jected far  enough,  he  hooked  his  foot  around 
it  and  dragged  it  towards  him  underneath. 
Thus  for  the  first  time  it  assumed  the  form  of 
a  hoop. 

To  be  absolutely  correct  in  size  he  went  to 
the  table,  fitted  this  in  a  gauge  hoop  and 
marked  the  exact  length.  Then  on  the  horse 
he  drilled  a  hole  with  his  whimble-piece,  and 
finished  the  job  with  a  wooden  peg  of  his  own 
making.  The  other  five  hoops  were  not 
pegged.  On  the  low  table,  by  the  aid  of  his 
knee,  protected  by  a  leathern  cap,  he  bent  and 
fitted  one  within  the  other  in  the  completed 
hoop. 

"  Let  cooper  peg  they  to  his  own  liking. 
Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  he. 

Ten  of  these  sets  he  piled  neatly  on  each 
other,  and  twisted  nooses  at  the  ends  of  three 
pliant  willow  wands  to  bind  them  together. 
He  placed  a  bar  across  the  pile,  and,  standing 
with  his  heel  on  it  and  his  toe  on  the 
circle,  drew  the  withes  tight,  equidistant  and 
secure. 


THE  HOOPMAKER  265 

"  There  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  there's  five  dozen — 
half  a  hundred,  hoopmaker's  recknen.  Ha, 
ha  !  An'  that's  zebenpence  ha'penny  to  keep 
my  missus.      Ha,  ha  !  " 

He  could  make  two  hundred  and  earn  about 
half  a  crown  a  day. 

"  But,  law !  the  trade's  a'most  gone,"  cried 
he. 

"They  use  iron  now,  I  suppose?" 

"  Not  that,"  explained  this  laughing  philo- 
sopher ;  "  but  they  do  send  'em  in  from 
France ! " 

"  Cheaper,  from  France  ? " 

"Ay,  an'  more  'an  that,  the  railway  rate  is 
too  dear.  Twenty-five  shillens !  mind,  five- 
an'-twenty  shillens  a  ton  is  money." 

He  did  not  know  what  his  hoops  were 
used  for ;  all  he  knew  was,  they  went  some- 
where "  right  down  along." 

He  evaded  further  cross-examination  by  the 
assertion  that  it  was  time  "  to  ate  a  bit  o'  lunch. 
Ha,  ha ! " 

I  left  him  seated  under  an  oak  tree  consum- 
ing bread  and  cheese  and  an  excellent  onion, 
with  a  bottle  "  o'  tay-water  "  to  wash  it  down. 


266  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

In  another  part  of  the  wood  I  came  upon 
another  hoop-house. 

The  chips  were  fresh,  and  some  one  had 
worked  there  quite  recently. 

The  building  was  precisely  like  the  one  I 
had  left,  and,  strangely  enough,  a  pair  of  wrens 
had  nested  in  this  also. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE  WAYSIDE  HOVEL 

"  Hullo  !  what  a  lovely  morning  !  "  cried  Mr. 
William  Purchase.  "  Soon  begin  to  think 
about  haymaking  if  this  lasts.  I've  got  a 
beautiful  bit  of  clover  coming  in  flower,  right 
at  the  other  end  of  the  farm.  Wait  a  minute 
for  the  post.  We'll  turn  up  the  lane  here  and 
walk  up  and  look  at  it." 

The  post  for  Sutton  is  brought  on  foot  from 
a  small  town  a  few  miles  away.  In  haste  to 
be  off,  he  had  walked  impatiently  beyond  the 
village,  and  was  waiting  on  the  high  road  to 
intercept  the  postman,  who  was  late. 

"The  fellow  is  always  behind  now," 
crumbled  Mr.  William  Purchase. 

Close  by  was  a  very  humble  dwelling.  It 
had  been  an  eyesore  to  him  for  years,   that 

hovel  on  the  strip  of  land  lying  between  his 

267 


268  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

orchard  and  the  high  road,  and  on  this  beau- 
tiful morning  in  early  June,  when  the  heads 
of  the  apple  trees  were  covered  in  blossom,  of 
which  every  petal  wore  a  blush  more  delicate 
than  the  thought  of  love  upon  a  young  maid's 
cheek,  he  turned  and  looked  at  it  again. 

"There!"  He  pointed  with  his  finger. 
"  That,  to  my  mind,  is  the  black  spot  in  Sutton. 
As  I  told  the  Inspector,  not  fit  for  a  sow  to 
litter  in,  and  a  disgrace  to  the  parish." 

William  Purchase  was  exactly  in  the  humour 
to  note  every  detail  of  that  squalid  habitation, 
and  they  were  all  such  as  to  annoy  him. 

To  begin  with,  the  foundation  of  the  house 
was  laid  in  theft. 

Some  squatter,  a  hundred  years  ago,  or 
more,  when  things  were  not  looked  after  in 
Sutton  so  well  as  to-day,  set  up  a  hut  on  the 
wayside  strip,  a  shanty  of  boards  that  grew  in 
time  into  three  mud  walls  and  a  pointing-end 
of  stone,  with  a  low  thatched  roof  and  a  little 
squat  chimney  of  red  brick.  Then  a  garden 
had  been  enclosed,  and  at  last  the  waste  be- 
came exalted  into  a  property.  Some  later 
owner  had  even  sunk  a  well.      So,  although 


THE  WAYSIDE  HOVEL  269 

the  place  could  boast  of  only  one  door  and  two 
small  rooms  opening  one  into  the  other,  it 
must  at  some  time  have  enjoyed  a  period  of 
better  circumstances.  That  time  was  p-one. 
The  mossy  roof  sank  down  between  the  rafters 
and  hung  on  them  like  a  sodden  garment. 
The  stone  wall  was  shored  up  on  the  outside 
by  means  of  a  plank  and  a  good  stiff  pole,  and 
yet  a  broad  chink  gaped  between  the  mud  and 
the  pointing-end.  Upon  one  side  of  the 
chimney  the  bricks  were  falling  away.  Of 
two  windows,  neither  larger  than  a  man's 
pocket-handkerchief,  one  was  smothered  and 
hidden  under  a  dirty,  ragged  old  sack.  As  a 
crowning  incongruity  (when  looked  at  in  its 
relation  to  so  antiquated,  so  primitive  a  dwell- 
ing) a  lean-to,  roughly  constructed  by  means 
of  three  posts  and  two  sheets  of  corrugated 
iron,  stood  at  one  end  to  afford  a  shelter 
for  a  small,  but  ingenious,  home-made  hand- 
cart. 

"  There  !  "  repeated  Mr.  William  Purchase. 
"  And  the  poor  fellow  who  lives  there  is  a  good 
match  for  the  house.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what 
ought  to  be  done,     Such  a  cottage  is  only  fit 


27o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

to  be  pulled  down  and  cleared  away.  The 
hedges  should  be  grubbed  out,  the  garden 
thrown  into  the  orchard  and  planted  with 
young  growing  trees.  A  cheap  pump  over 
the  well,  and  a  better  gate  close  by — then  the 
water'll  be  worth  its  weight  of  a  dry  summer. 
As  to  poor  Jakey  Barton  himself,  he  ought 
to  be  sent  into  the  Union  to  be  taken  care  of. 
There  can  be  no  question  as  to  that.  He'd 
be  cleaner,  happier,  and  altogether  better  off. 
Thank  Heavens  the  property  does  not  belong 
to  any  one  in  Sutton.  The  owner  lives  miles 
away.  I  made  him  a  fair  offer  to  buy  it  years 
ago.  Yet  the  man  refused — hoping,  no  doubt, 
because  of  the  frontage,  to  get  a  ridiculous 
price." 

These  reflections  were  suddenly  brought  to 
a  stop  by  the  appearance  of  Jakey  Barton, 
who,  having  silently  propped  open  the  gate 
with  one  of  the  chimney  bricks,  came  drag- 
ging his  cart  towards  the  road. 

The  figure  of  the  man  and  the  odd  propor- 
tions of  the  vehicle  were  truly  in  keeping 
with  the  old  tumble-down  cottage  whence 
they    came.     Jakey    Barton  was    misshapen 


THE  WAYSIDE  HOVEL  271 

from  birth.  His  barrow  was  the  unassisted 
product  of  a  peculiar  genius  hiding  some- 
where between  a  humped  back  and  a  narrow 
chest  which  was  certainly"  pigeon-breasted. 
He  would  have  been  tall  if  he  had  not  been 
so  crooked.  Made  up  of  odd  angles  every- 
where, the  strange  behaviour  of  his  knees  and 
ankles  made  one  think  of  a  daddy-long-legs. 
His  face  was  overgrown  with  unkempt  hair 
and  beard,  making  it  difficult  to  guess  his 
age.  He  had  been  like  that  when  William 
Purchase  was  a  boy.  His  barrow  was  a 
starch-box,  two  mop-stems  and  a  pair  of 
perambulator  wheels,  and  he  appeared  to 
be  intent  upon  steering  it  between  the  gate- 
posts. But  he  was  sullen  and  would  not 
look  at  Mr.  William  Purchase — the  man  who 
would  put  him  in  "  The  House  "  if  he  could 
— the  man  who  brought  the  Inspector  that 
morning  when  they  stood  in  the  road  to- 
gether and  found  fault  with  the  cottage. 

Yet  it  was  worth  any  one's  while  to  look  at 
Mr.  William  Purchase  on  that  beautiful  June 
day.  He  had  put  on  a  new  light  tweed  suit 
to  welcome  the  summer,  and  stood  with  his 


272  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

legs  apart,  a  very  model  of  stability  and  com- 
fortable respectability.  He  was  said  to  be 
stubborn,  but  always  good-natured.  Cer- 
tainly he  bore  no  ill-will  towards  Jakey  Bar- 
ton, the  cottage,  or  the  cart.  But  the  thing 
made  a  scandal  in  Sutton,  and  he  hated  a 
scandal  and  dearly  loved  the  parish  of  Sutton. 
It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  his  action  in  the 
matter  of  the  Inspector  was  not  prompted  in 
the  least  by  his  desire  to  buy  the  strip  of  land. 
The  house  was  not  according  to  the  reooila- 
tions.  He  might  sometimes  be  narrow,  but 
William  Purchase  was  never  mean. 

"Hullo,  Jakey.  Going  out  round  again? 
What  job  have  you  got  on  hand  this  morning, 
then  ?  " 

The  words  were  spoken  in  the  breezy, 
hearty  manner  of  a  well-to-do  who  sometimes 
patronises  an  inferior  in  order  to  assure  him- 
self that  there  is  no  false,  stuck-up  pride 
about  him. 

"  Birds'-meat,"  grunted  Jakey. 

"  Oh  !  Bit  of  groundsel,  bit  of  shepherd's- 
purse  for  the  canary-birds  in  their  cages  in 
the   town,  eh  ?     Why,  Jakey,  you    must    be 


THE  WAYSIDE  HOVEL  273 

making  a  fortune.  One  day  carrier — next 
day  merchant — and  then  the  mushrooms,  the 
blackberries  and  sloes,  and  all  the  little  crops 
that  a  man  like  you  can  take  in  for  nothing. 
Jakey,  you're  the  only  man  I  know  clever 
enough  to  reap  without  sowing." 

For  the  first  time  the  cripple  looked  up, 
but  his  glance  was  dark  and  angry. 

"  I  never  begged  o'  you,  nor  o'  any  other 
man  liven,"  he  growled.  "As  between  man 
an'  man,  I  tell  you,  I'm  none  too  crooked  to 
get  on  very  well,  if — if  only  a  few  good 
friends  would  but  leave  me  to  myself." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  my  man.  There  is  no 
ill-will  towards  you.  I  swear  to  God  I  never 
clap  eyes  on  Jakey  Barton  without  the  wish 
to  see  him  better  off — better  off  and  better 
cared  for." 

To  this  Jakey  made  no  response,  but 
slowly  dragged  away  his  cart,  scanning  the 
hedgerow  bank  and  sometimes  stopping  to 
gather  birds'-meat  as  he  went.  That  was 
one  of  his  stock  phrases — as  between  man 
an'  man — and  half  the  village  nicknamed  him 

by  it. 

18 


274  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

And  just  then  the  postman  came  in  sight. 

"  Come,  come !  You  are  late.  How  is 
this  ? "  shouted  Mr.  William  Purchase  in  a 
tone  of  banter. 

"Only  one  for  you,  sir,"  replied  the  post- 
man. 

"Oh!  That's  a  measly  excuse,  I  call  it — 
that  you've  had  to  bring  me  no  correspond- 
ence." 

The  postman  laughed.  To  him  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Purchase  was  always  a  "  thorough  good 
sort." 

Mr.  William  Purchase  tore  open  his  one 
letter  and  read : 

"  Some  time  ago  you  offered  me  a  price  for 
my  cottage  on  the  Hazelgrove  road.  Please 
say  by  return  of  post  whether  you  still  wish 
to  buy  it,  as  otherwise  I  shall  put  it  up  to 
auction  at  once." 


He  laughed. 

"  Getting  worried  by  the  authority,  I  sup- 
pose," he  muttered  to  himself. 

"  Here,  postman,  stop  one  moment.  I  can't 
go  home  to  write.     Just  send  a  wire  for  me." 


THE  WAYSIDE  HOVEL  275 

He  tore  an  unused  half-sheet  from  the 
letter  and  wrote  in  pencil : 

"  I  stand  by  my  offer. — William  Pur- 
chase." 

"  There,  postman.  Send  that.  That'll  be 
sixpence.  And  you  can  keep  the  other  six- 
pence for  yourself." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Good-morning,  sir,"  said 
the  postman  and  tramped  on  his  way. 

"That's  settled.  Nothing  more  to  answer 
— so  come  along.  One  more  blot  removed. 
Jakey,  poor  fellow,  will  have  to  go  now.  And 
much  the  better  for  him  too.  His  must  be  a 
half-starved,  miserable  existence.  If  he  will 
only  be  reasonable  and  go  into  '  The  House."' 

Thus  we  crossed  into  the  lane  and  turned 
our  steps  towards  the  clover-field. 

The  field  of  clover  was  as  beautiful  as  a 
dream.  The  morning  being  young,  the  sun 
had  not  yet  drunk  all  the  dew.  Some  of  the 
moist  leaves  underneath  were  still  folded,  as 
if  not  awakened  from  their  night's  repose. 
The  crop  was  more  forward  than  had  been 
expected,  and  everywhere  the  clover  heads 


276  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

were  bursting  into  their  summer  purple,  and 
giving  off  their  dewy  fragrance  to  the  light 
and  warmth. 

"  It  is  wonderfully  sweet,"  said  I. 

"  Honey-sweet,"  said  he. 

The  bees  thought  so  also,  for  they  were 
innumerable  and  their  humming  knew  no 
pause.  I  picked  a  flower  and  pulled  it  abroad 
to  suck  its  sweetness  as  country  children  do. 
Butterflies  fluttered  in  the  sun  or  basked 
upon  the  leaves.  To  and  fro,  up  into  the 
blue  sky  and  then  close  to  the  green  leaf, 
skimmed  the  swallows  and  the  swifts,  feeding 
on  the  insect  life  that,  attracted  by  the  scent 
of  the  honey,  abounded  everywhere. 

"  Let  this  weather  last  but  a  few  days 
longer,"  cried  Mr.  William  Purchase  in  a  tone 
of  boisterous  jollity.  "  It'll  be  in  full  flower. 
Then  I'll  take  a  first  cut  at  this  and  begin 
haymaking." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT 

When  it  became  known  that  Mr.  William 
Purchase  had  bought  the  tumble-down  cottage 
from  the  approaching  Midsummer  day,  there 
was  wonder  in  Sutton  as  to  where  old  "  Man 
an'  man  "  would  go. 

He  had  lived  in  it  so  long  that  the  village 
could  not  imagine  him  in  any  other  place. 
Cottages  were  scarce.  People  were  hungry 
for  them  in  that  neighbourhood  and  snapped 
them  up  before  they  were  empty.  No  farmer 
was  likely  to  take  such  a  tenant,  even  if  he 
had  a  house  vacant,  when  he  could  pick  and 
choose  among  half  a  dozen  respectable,  hard- 
working men  with  families  to  bring  up.  That 
much  was  clear  to  everybody.  As  Carter 
Peters  said,  that  "was  but  reason."  And 
Shepherd  agreed  it  "  was  nothing  but  right." 


278  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

The  future  of  Jakey  was  discussed  over  many 
a  quart  of  ale  or  cider.  But  as  to  whether 
anything  had  been  done,  for  a  long  time 
nothing  was  known.  And  the  "  rights  o'  it  " 
would  never  have  been  known  but  for  the 
perspicuity  of  young  John  Brook,  who,  as 
soon  as  ever  he  saw  Mr.  William  Purchase 
turn  in  to  Jakey  Barton's  garden-hatch,  knew, 
as  clear  as  if  Mr.  William  Purchase  had 
told  him  so  outright,  that  "something  was 
up." 

Mr.  William  Purchase  was  a  busy  man, 
and  for  a  while  completely  forgot  his  new 
property  and  its  old  tenant.  The  clover  was 
cut,  made,  and  carried  before  he  took  any 
steps  in  the  matter  whatever. 

Next  to  the  orchard  was  a  beautiful  field 
of  grass,  with  the  herbage  in  full  flower  and 
the  earliest  of  it  in  seed,  just  ripe  for  the 
mower,  and  young  John  Brook  was  by  the 
corner  of  the  orchard  hedgerow  with  a  scythe 
cutting  a  track  for  the  machine  to  go  round. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  saw  that  significant  action 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  William  Purchase,  which 
revealed  to  him  so  much.     The  young  John 


THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT  279 

Brook  dropped  his  scythe,  nipped  through  a 
gap  in  the  hedge,  and  popped  down  to  Jakey's 
garden.  The  orchard  now  was  like  a  bower 
with  the  fruit  all  kerned  hard  and  green 
amongst  the  fresh  and  open  leaves.  Peering 
through  the  garden-hedge,  with  his  great 
round  face  amongst  the  dog-roses,  the  young 
John  Brook  could  both  see  and  hear  every- 
thing. 

This  is  the  final  form  of  young  John  Brook's 
narrative,  as  afterwards  made  known,  a  por- 
tion at  a  time,  to  the  other  haymakers  as 
they  turned  the  swath,  or  pitched  beside  the 
waggon,  or  gathered  to  their  beer  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  rick  ;  and  it  does  credit 
to  his  powers  of  observation. 

"  There  master,  as  I  said,  walked  up 
garden-path  an'  rapped  'pon  door  wi'  his 
knuckles,  an'  turned  round  an'  bid  so  still  as 
a  graven  image  in  a  church  wall. 

"  Not  so  much  as  a  sound. 

"Then  master,  he  turned  hisself  round 
short,  an'  knocked  'pon  door  wi'  the  han'le 
of  his  walken-stick. 

"  Not  a  step  nor  a  word. 


280  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Then  master,  he  thought  he'd  take  a  little 
walk  round  like.  He  shoved  his  stick  into 
the  crack  by  the  winder.  He  took  a  peep 
at  the  pole  an'  plank  where  the  wall  is  a- 
shored  up.  He  pulled  a  han'ful  o'  the  dusty 
dry  old  thatch  out  o'  the  low  eaves.  Then 
he  corned  to  Jakey's  little  tin  cart-house,  an' 
he  sort  o'  smiled  to  his  own  self  like,  an'  then 
he  chuckled,  an'  then  he  stood  an'  laughed 
outright.  An'  he  turned  hisself  round,  an' 
he  marched  up  to  door  like  a  turkey  cock  an' 
het  'pon  un  again,  an'  hollared — - 

"'Come,  Barton.  No  hiden.  I  do  know 
you  be  there.' 

"  Not  so  much  as  a  mouse. 

"  '  Do  you  hear,  you  old  fox  ?  I've  a-catched 
sight  o'  your  cart  under  the  shed.' 

"Then  come  a  footstep,  so  slow  as  a  snail, 
'pon  the  stone  floor.  Then  the  door  oped 
just  enough  for  Jakey  to  shove  his  ragged 
head  round.  He  never  nodded.  He  never 
moved  his  lips.  He  jus'  bid  an'  stared  an' 
blinked  at  Mr.  William  Purchase. 

" '  Come,  come.  This  is  terr'ble  bad 
manners,    Jakey.'     There   master,    you    see, 


THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT  281 

he  couldn'  but  laugh  too.      '  To  let  a  visitor 
stand  about  an'  knock  twice.' ' 

At  this  point  it  was  the  habit  of  the  young 
John  Brook  to  become  more  dramatic,  and 
to  give  the  dialogue  in  style,  with  an  imitation 
of  the  voices  of  the  two  disputants. 
"  '  What  do  ee  want?  '  says  Jakey. 

"  '  The  cottage  is  mine  now ' 

'"So  I've  a-heard  tell.' 
"'So  I've  just  a-comed   to    have  a  word 
wi'  ee.' 

"  'You  needn't  to  ha'  bothered.  You  mid 
rest  yourself  easy.  I  do  always  pay  my 
rent.' 

"  '  I  don't  doubt  that,  Jakey,  but ' 

"'An'  so  you'll  find.  I  shall  send  wi'out 
asken.' 

"  '  But  it's  not  a  matter  o'  rent.' 
"  '  I  never  ha'n't  a-been  a  wick  behind  wi' 
my  rent  not  in  all  my  life.' 

"  Then  he  popped  back  the  head  o'  un,  an' 
would  ha'  slammed  to  the  door.  But  master, 
he  had  a-been  too  cunnen  for  un.  He'd  a-got 
his  foot  in  'pon  threshold  an'  t'other  couldn't 
shut  he  out. 


282  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

11  So  then  they  at  it  again. 

"  '  Stop  !  Stop  !  Stop  !  I  know  you  are 
an  excellent  tenant,  but  the  law  will  have 
its  way.  It  has  made  up  its  mind  that  the 
house  is  not  fit  to  be  a  dwelling,  and  so ' 

"  '  'Tis  good  enough  for  I.' 

"  '  But  it's  not  according  to  the  regulations, 
Jakey  ;  so  you  must  take  notice  to  quit.' 

"  '  I  can't  find  nowhere  else  to  go  to.' 

"'  You  shall  have  time  to  look.  Getting 
around  the  country  as  you  do,  you'll  soon 
chance  on  something  to  suit  your  wants ' 

"  '  I  tell  ee  I  can't.  There  idden  no  other 
place  'pon  this  mortal  earth  to  suit.  An' 
zo,  between  man  an'  man,  that's  flat.' 

"  '  Oh,  you'll  find  a  place — a  better  place. 
And  I  shall  not  hurry  you.  Say  a  month. 
Saturday  four  weeks,  Barton.  How  will  that 
do  ?  Four  weeks  Saturday  next.  Do  you 
hear  ?  'Tis  not  me — 'tis  the  law.  And  then 
this  has  got  to  be  pulled  down.' 

"  But  jus'  to  that  moment  master  chanced 
to  draw  back  his  foot.  Slam  goes  the  door. 
Bang  goes  the  bolt.  All  over !  But  lawk ! 
To  see  his  bushy  brows  and  hear  old  Jakey 


THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT  283 

scream,  you  couldn'  but   think   o'  some  girt 
scritch-owl." 

This  narrative  was  most  popular,  and  the 
dialogues  were  demanded  on  every  possible 
occasion.  They  went  far  to  establish  an 
opinion,  which  had  been  gaining  ground  ever 
since  Easter  morning,  that  young  John  Brook 
really  cannot  be  such  a  fool  as  he  looks. 

The  matter,  however,  did  not  rest  here. 

On  the  following  day  the  haymakers  turned 
in  to  work  in  the  field  close  to  Jakey's  cottage. 
And  there  arose  great  sun-capped  mountains 
of  cloud,  and  the  weather  became  most  fickle 
with  thunder  and  heavy  storms  of  rain.  The 
sun  dried  and  the  shower  wetted.  The  hay- 
makers raked  the  sweet-smelling  hay  up  into 
windrows  only  to  throw  it  abroad  again.  Thus 
for  the  better  part  of  three  weeks  they  were 
close  to  Jakey's  cottage  and  able  to  have  a 
word  with  him  every  day.  They  learnt  all  his 
mind  and  his  doings.  How  he  gave  one  of 
the  village  children  a  halfpenny  to  carry  his 
shilling  and  the  well-thumbed  penny  account- 
bookto  the  Manor  House  every  Saturday,  with 
instructions  that  the  payment  must  be  entered, 


284  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  the  emissary  must  wait  and  be  sure  to 
bring  back  the  book.  Remuneration  was  made 
dependent  upon  the  complete  success  of  the 
mission,  and  the  child  had  never  failed.  The 
haymakers  jocularly  encouraged  old  Jakey. 
They  said  if  Jakey  chose  to  do  nothing  at  all 
he  could  remain  as  firm  in  that  house  as  a  staple 
driven  into  the  wall.  They  said,  if  he  kept 
the  door  lockedand  the  key  in  his  pocket,  when 
he  was  in  and  when  he  was  out,  the  devil  him- 
self could  not  force  him  to  quit.  They  warned 
him  that  the  main  thing  was  the  possession  of 
the  key.  What  the  crown  is  to  a  king  so  is 
a  key  to  a  tenant.  So  Jakey  slept  with  the 
key  under  his  pillow.  Also,  in  order  to  avoid 
his  landlord,  he  sought  the  byways  and  lanes, 
and  nolonger  picked  groundsel  andshepherd's- 
purse  on  any  of  the  high  roads  round  about 
Sutton. 

Thus  the  four  weeks  passed  and  more  ;  and, 
with  the  overlapping  of  harvest  upon  hay- 
making, the  expiration  of  the  notice  might  pro- 
bably have  remained  overlooked,  had  not  the 
labourers  felt  that  the  little  drama  in  which 


THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT  285 

they  took  so  much  interest  was  beginning  to 
drag.  In  a  dull  way  they  sympathised  with 
Jakey.  Yet  so  odd  a  creature  could  not  fail 
to  be  the  object  of  ridicule,  just  as  a  sick  sheep 
is  the  butt  of  the  flock.  Carter  Peters  thought 
that  a  chance  word  to  master,  "  to  act  as  a  bit 
of  a  spur  like,"  might  make  things  move. 

They  were  far  away  from  the  Hazelgrove 
road,  on  the  side  of  the  gentle  hill  where  the 
lapwings  circled  over  the  young  stock  in 
spring.  The  wheat  close  by  was  turning  to 
ruddy  gold.  They  were  carrying  the  last  few 
loads  of  a  crop  made  under  a  clear  blue  sky, 
and  mowed  and  hauled  in  four  days  with 
never  a  drop  of  rain  upon  it. 

Mr.  William  Purchase  was  there,  mounted 
upon  his  cob,  riding  beside  the  growing  load 
as  it  passed  slowly  down  the  avenue  of  pooks 
on  its  way  to  the  rick.  Most  of  the  singing 
birds  are  silent  in  July.  Every  sound  that 
fell  upon  the  ear — the  rattle  of  the  horse-rake, 
the  jingling  of  the  harness  when  the  horses 
shook  themselves  under  the  torture  of  the  flies, 
the  warning  shout  of  the  carter's  boy  to  the 
men  on  the  load,  "  Hold  fast ! "  and  then  the 


286  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

creaking  of  the  wheels  as  the  waggon  moved 
one  step  forward — had  to  do  with  the  work  in 
hand.  Thus  they  drew  nigh  and  came  along- 
side the  rick.  The  jar  was  fetched  from  under 
the  shady  leafage  in  the  cool  ditch,  and  the 
little  cup  to  be  filled  for  each.  Then  men  and 
boys  stood  round  for  a  drink.  Mr.  William 
Purchase  dropped  his  rein  on  the  quiet  old 
cob's  neck  and  leisurely  took  out  a  pouch  to 
fill  his  pipe.  He  was  by  no  means  the  man 
to  inflict  silence  by  his  presence.  To  his 
credit,  he  was  fully  established  to  be  "  one  you 
could  speak  to."  On  that  day  he  was  most 
complacent  and  smiling.  Everything  through- 
out the  season,  with  the  exception  of  the 
thunder-showers,  which,  after  all,  were  the 
salvation  of  the  mangolds,  had  gone  first-rate. 

Carter  winked  to  Shepherd  over  the  cup. 

"  Old  '  Man  an'  man,'  he  don't  find  another 
house,  sir,"  he  ventured,  and  drank  as  inno- 
cent as  a  babe  with  a  bottle. 

Shepherd,  with  the  jar  tucked  under  his 
arm,  filled  up  for  young  John  Brook. 

"  I  can't  hear  that  he  do  look." 

"  Maybe  he  don't  think  master  do  mean  it." 


THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT  287 

"  No.  He  do  hold  the  notice  is  dead  now 
the  time  is  up  an'  gone  by." 

"  Ay  !  He  do  think  he  can't  be  turned  out 
by  law  so  long  as  he  do  pay  the  rent." 

"An'  if  he  do  but  keep  the  door  locked  no- 
beddy  do  dare  to  break  in." 

"Is  that  his  notion  ?  "  laughed  Mr.  William 
Purchase  as  he  put  away  his  pouch.  "Well, 
get  along  with  it,  and  pick  it  all  up,  clean  and 
nice."  Then,  taking  the  rein,  he  turned  his 
horse  and  rode  away  at  a  walk. 

The  remarks  of  his  labourers  set  him  think- 
ing. He  was  a  good-hearted  man,  but  it  does 
not  do  to  allow  oneself  to  be  trifled  with. 
He  could  detect  something  more  behind. 
When  speaking  of  the  rent  Isaac  Jeans  knew 
more  than  he  said.  Yet  it  does  not  do  to 
listen  to  the  tattle  of  the  men.  If  old  Barton 
were  determined  to  lock  his  door  and  stay,  it 
would  be  a  fine  job  to  get  him  out — and  ex- 
pensive, too.  Yet  it  does  not  do  to  be  defied. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  would  never  do  to  throw 
a  wretched  cripple's  few  sticks  of  furniture  into 
the  road.  There  are  so  many  things,  when  a 
man  is  a  churchwarden,  a  member  of  many 


288  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

boards,  and  very  respectable,  that  will  not  do. 
And  it  was  he  who  had  called  attention  to  the 
uninhabitable  condition  of  the  cottage.  He 
took  the  whim  to  ride  round  and  look  at  it 
again.  He  cantered  across  the  hayfield  to  a 
gate  opening  upon  a  narrow  drove,  impass- 
able in  winter  and  in  the  summer  little  used. 
There,  hidden  between  overgrown  hedgerows, 
he  came  suddenly  upon  the  groundsel-picker 
with  his  cart. 

"Well,  Barton!  Have  you  got  a  house 
yet  ?  " 

"  No.  An'  ben't  likely  to.  None  but  the 
one  I  be  in,"  growled  the  old  fellow. 

"  You  do  not  try,  my  man.  The  month  is 
up.     However,  you  may  have  one  week  more." 

"  I  do  pay  my  rent,  an'  that's  enough.  If  the 
wet  do  come  in,  or  if  the  bricks  do  fall,  I  do 
keep  silence  an'  pay  my  rent.  What  business 
is  it  to  other  folk  ?  The  house  is  good  enough 
for  me,  an'  you  do  get  your  rent.  You  might 
grumble,  to  be  sure,  if  I  did  keep  ee  out  o' 
your  rent." 

Old  Jakey  stepped  down  into  the  ditch  and 
picked  groundsel  as  if  he  had  not  the  patience 


THE  REFRACTORY  TENANT  289 

or  could  not  spare  the  time  to  insist  further 
upon  so  obvious  a  contention. 

Mr.  William  Purchase  felt  sorry  for  him. 
"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Barton.  Take  the  old 
cottage  up  by  the  wood  at  the  same  price. 
There  are  two  rooms,  just  as  you  have  here, 
and  a  better  garden.     It  will  just  do  for  you." 

Old  "Man  an'  man"  raised  his  head  and 
half  turned  to  look  over  his  humped  shoulder. 
"Ha' n't  you  got  eyes  in  your  head  to  see," 
cried  he  sharply,  "that  my  poor  lags  can't 
walk  up  and  down  stairs  ? " 

It  was  impossible  to  be  insensible  to  the 
pathos  of  this  lament.  Yet  it  did  but  confirm 
the  opinion,  many  times  expressed,  that  Barton 
would  be  better  in  the  workhouse  and  com- 
fortably cared  for.  Mr.  William  Purchase  did 
not  say  so.  1 1  could  do  no  good.  And  it  would 
not  answer  to  refuse  the  rent.  The  old  man 
would  but  stay  rent-free.  But  this  constant 
harping  on  the  word  suggested  another  plan. 

"  You  have  not  tried,  Barton.     Perhaps  you 

may  have  to  pay  a  trifle  more.     Now  I  shall 

send  you  a  written  week's  notice  to  quit,  and 

at  the  same  time  raise  the  rent  to  half  a  crown. 

19 


29o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

You  can  get  a  better  house  for  less  money. 
You  have  to  go,  and  this  is  to  make  you  attend 
to  the  matter." 

Jakey  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  hear?" 

"  My  hearing  is  so  good  as  another's,  thank 
God ! " 

Jakey  climbed  from  the  ditch  and  packed 
his  plants  neatly  in  the  cart  with  the  air  of  one 
who  will  not  be  hindered. 

Mr.  William  Purchase  chose  to  take  this 
very  ambiguous  reply  for  acquiescence.  Com- 
forting himself  with  the  thought  that  Barton 
could  never  afford  to  pay  half  a  crown,  he  dis- 
missed all  doubt,  with  the  reflection  that  it 
would  be  easy  enough  to  return  Jakey  the 
difference  when  he  came  to  vacate  the  house. 

The  sun  was  shining.  A  brood  of  young 
thrushes  went  fluttering  along  the  hedgerow. 
Everything  was  living,  growing,  prosperous 
and  contented.  By  the  time  Mr.  William 
Purchase  reached  the  end  of  the  grassy  drove 
and  turned  into  the  dusty  road,  he  had  quite 
forgotten  the  condemned  cottage  and  its  miser- 
able  tenant  in  the  sense  of  his  own  well-being. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

POTTED  RABBIT 

"  Hullo  !  Here,  I  say  !  Why  don't  ee  bring 
out  your  gun  this  hot  weather  in  the  cool  o' 
the  evening,  just  'pon  twilight,  or  in  the  quiet 
after  daybreak,  afore  folk  be  about,  an'  creep 
round  an'  pot  a  few  rabbits  ?  There's  thou- 
sands !     Millions!     Billions!     You  come." 

Such  was  the  hearty  invitation  of  Uncle 
Dick,  shouted  back  at  me  on  the  high  road  out 
of  a  cloud  of  dust,  as  he  whirled  by  at  full  trot 
in  his  market  gig. 

Just  upon  twilight ! 

The  words  raised  a  vision  of  grateful  quiet- 
ude and  peace. 

Labour  has  gone  home  from  the  fields. 
The  click  of  the  mowing-machine  and  the 
jingle  of  the  horse-rake  have  ceased.  One 
empty  waggon  has    been   left   ready  for  to- 


292  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

morrow  beside  the  half-made  rick.  Another 
carried  home  a  load  of  singing  haymakers  when 
they  knocked  off  for  the  day.  Ragged  cart- 
horses, both  young  and  old,  having  indulged 
in  the  kick  and  the  flourish  with  which  they 
celebrate  their  freedom  in  the  meadow,  have 
settled  down  to  feed.  Some  time  ago  the 
cowman  drove  his  herd  from  the  milking-stalls 
slowly  back  to  the  pasture.  Earlier  still  the 
dairyman's  maidens  ceased  their  song  and 
rattled  away  with  the  full  cans.  Kine  that 
stood  all  the  afternoon  knee-deep  in  the  brook, 
having  ceased  to  ruminate,  are  curling  their 
tongues  around  the  lush  dewy  grass  to  pull  it. 
The  breaking  of  the  herbage  has  a  pleasant 
sound  as  you  pass,  and  there  is  also  a  fragrance 
of  new  milk.  A  blackbird  is  still  fluting  from 
the  bush,  and  thrushes  repeat  their  phrases 
from  trees  both  far  and  near.  The  clumps  of 
furze  upon  the  hillside,  though  much  of  the 
flower  has  turned  to  hairy  little  pods,  begin 
with  the  falling  of  the  dew  to  scent  of 
cocoanut,  and  from  the  twigs,  or  fluttering 
above  them,  linnets  creep  and  warble  of 
their    second    broods.     The    roses   and    the 


POTTED  RABBIT  293 

honeysuckles  pour  forth  upon  the  air  the 
sweetness  they  have  saved  during  the  heat  of 
the  day.  The  sun  is  low.  Cool  shadows 
stretch  rio-ht  across  the  fields.  Columns  of 
blue  smoke  rise  from  amongst  the  trees  that 
shelter  the  village.  The  mill  has  ceased  to 
hum.  From  the  level  fields,  near  where  the 
church  tower  may  be  seen  between  the  poplars, 
the  distant  sounds  of  the  village  cricket  club 
at  practice  may  be  heard.  The  sharp  tap  of 
the  ball  against  the  bat,  the  applause  which 
follows  a  mighty  slog,  the  shouts  of  derision 
after  the  missing  of  an  easy  catch.  Yet  these 
cannot  disturb  the  quiet  of  the  hour  just  upon 
twilight.  Nor  the  cawing  of  innumerable 
rooks  as  they  rise  and  fall,  and  wheel  and  turn 
before  settling  down  upon  their  roosting-trees. 
Nor  the  "  fronk  "  of  the  heron,  as  with  steadv 
flight  he  passes  homeward  from  some  distant 
fen  to  some  more  distant  wood. 

And  when  at  last  the  disc  of  the  setting  sun, 
that  gleamed  between  the  ivy-covered  trees, 
has  just  passed  out  of  sight,  and  the  long- 
shadows  have  faded  from  the  grass,  the  night- 
jar comes  from  his  daily  hiding-place  in  the 


294  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

wood  and  utters  his  whirring  note  as  he  darts 
to  and  fro,  hawking  moths  and  the  buzzing 
chafers  that  fly  in  the  gloom  and  terrify  village 
maidens  as  they  loiter  by  the  stiles  or  walk 
with  their  lovers  along  some  lane.  Quite  early 
the  grass  is  wet  with  dew.  And  even  if  the 
day  has  been  still,  there  comes  a  welcome 
breath  of  wind  in  the  cool  of  the  dusk. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  the  summer  evening 
is  so  beautiful  that  no  self-respecting  rabbit 
can  be  content  to  stuff  in  a  hole  ? 

So  they  come  lopping  out  by  hundreds. 
Rabbits  in  infancy,  rabbits  adolescent,  stout 
old  does,  models  of  domesticity,  surrounded 
with  families  of  five,  and  yet  inclined  to  flirt 
with  grey  old  bucks  who  for  seasons  have 
eaten  the  first  of  the  clover  and  the  sweetest 
of  the  spring  crops  while  they  toughened  in 
iniquity.  All  sorts  are  there  along  the  wood 
and  the  hedgerow  bank. 

I  have  no  love  for  the  rabbit  alive  or  dead, 
and  care  nothing  how  he  is  killed  or  how  he 
is  cooked.  There  is  a  lack  of  talent  about 
him  and  an  absence  of  temperament  quite  de- 
plorable.     He  comes,  feeds,  and  goes  to  earth 


POTTED  RABBIT  295 

again.  It  does  not  recommend  him  to  say- 
that  many  of  us  do  little  better  ourselves.  It 
is  not  given  to  every  living  creature  to  breathe 
the  rare  atmosphere  enjoyed  by  the  lark,  or  to 
soar  to  heights  reserved  for  the  minor  poet. 
But  the  rabbit  gravely  works  his  jaw  like 
an  ordinary  politician  and  stays  where  he  is. 
There  is  an  utter  want  of  soul  in  his  expres- 
sion, caused,  it  may  be,  in  some  measure  by 
the  absence  of  the  white  of  the  eye,  which 
drives  him  to  convey  his  loftier  emotion  by  a 
finer  elevation  of  a  fluffy  little  tail  called  a  scut. 
He  is  prolific  also  beyond  the  bounds  of 
decorum.  And  then  his  cowardice.  At  the 
sound  of  a  footstep  or  the  mere  snapping  of  a 
twig,  if  one  should  start,  away  scuttle  all  the 
rest.  No  spirit  of  independence  stirs  within 
the  bosom  of  a  rabbit.  There  is  never  a  re- 
former among  the  bucks — never  a  suffragette 
among  the  does. 

For  these  reasons  it  is  no  crime  to  pot  a 
rabbit  sitting — if  he  will  only  wait. 

The  way  is  to  creep  along  the  hedgerow  or 
around  the  gorse  and  peep.  It  seems  like  a 
child's  game.     But  it  is  all  a  matter  of  strategy, 


296  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  every  evening  throughout  the  summer 
months  hundreds  of  thousands  of  frivolous 
rabbits  succeed  in  outwitting  the  deepest  men. 
The  sportsman  may  steal  along  on  tiptoe, 
sniffing  the  sweet  brier  and  the  honeysuckle 
as  he  goes.  The  sandy  bank  is  honeycombed 
with  holes.  The  grass  is  eaten  bare  for 
twenty  feet  from  the  ditch  ;  and  the  earth, 
that  ought  to  be  clad  in  green,  looks  parched 
and  rusty  brown.  Yet  when  the  ground  is 
dry  and  hard  the  rabbits  that  are  so  plentiful 
have  all  vanished  long  before  he  can  approach 
within  gunshot.  Only  when  he  peeps  through 
the  gate  can  he  manage  to  surprise  one  half- 
grown  innocent ;  and  appearing  suddenly 
round  the  corner  of  the  wood  he  gets  another 
galloping  home  from  the  middle  of  the  field. 

But  the  big  patch  of  gorse  offers  more 
favourable  opportunities. 

It  is  thick  and  dark.  There  are  long 
peninsulas  jutting  out  from  the  main  conti- 
nent, and  islands  here  and  there  along  the 
coast.  Hidden  upon  either  side,  he  may  pass 
through  a  narrow  strait  and  kill  a  couple 
before  they  have  time  to  look  round.     And 


VIEW  OF  SUTTON  VILLAGE 
From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


, 


4 


t 


*■&•**•■ 


.4s 


4^^ 


POTTED  RABBIT  297 

so  his  bag  increases  as  the  darkness  draws 
on. 

Now,  what  if  a  man  should  kill  three  couple 
and  have  a  mile  to  carry  them  home  ? 

That  is  when  each  potted  rabbit  takes  its 
most  devilish  revenge. 

After  all,  summer  evening  rabbit-shooting 
is  only  a  sport  for  boys.  For  young  boys 
home  from  school,  rejoicing  in  the  possession 
of  a  first  single  barrel,  and  thirsting  to  kill. 
For  old  boys  "fat  and  scant  of  breath,"  who 
ascend  a  hill  with  deliberation  and  pant  when 
they  get  to  the  top.  In  two  essential  require- 
ments the  enterprise  is  utterly  deficient.  It 
makes  no  demand  upon  endurance,  and  is  no 
test  of  skill. 

It  is  merely  an  admirable  excuse  for  a  quiet 
walk  in  the  most  pleasant  hour  of  the  twenty- 
four. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

A  COUPLE  O'  YOUNG  CAUTIONS 

Ever  after  the  memorable  occasion  when 
the  promptitude  of  Miss  Letty  Purchase  so 
mercifully  preserved  the  life  of  Selina  Jane 
Edwards'  little  Rosie  Ann,  Dr.  Willoughby, 
the  "local  tremens,"  was  noticed  to  visit  Sut- 
ton with  a  frequency  which  the  excellent 
health  of  the  parish  did  not  appear  to  demand. 
With  such  constancy  and  patience  did  his 
man  slowly  walk  that  "bay  hoss  an'  two- 
wheel  trap  "  to  and  fro  between  the  church 
gate  and  the  end  of  the  causeway  that,  at  first, 
great  alarm  was  felt  lest  some  epidemic  might 
have  broken  out  at  the  Manor  House.  Visits 
of  such  length,  and  sometimes  twice  a  day,  it 
was  feared  could  only  result  in  the  speedy 
death  of  the  sufferer.     And  yet,  who  could  it 

be  ?     That  nothing  was  ailing  with  Miss  Letty 

298 


A  COUPLE  O'  YOUNG  CAUTIONS        299 

must  be  clear  to  the  dullest  apprehension. 
When  seen  to  step  out  upon  the  causeway, 
apparently  in  serious  conference  with  the 
doctor  before  his  departure,  Miss  Letty  was 
observed  to  be  brighter  eyed,  fresher  cheeked, 
and  rosier  lipped  than  ever  in  her  life  before. 
Mr.  William  Purchase  himself,  tanned  by  the 
haymaking,  walked  up  the  street,  or  ambled 
by  on  his  cob,  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  Of  a 
Sunday  Mrs.  William  Purchase  led  the  way 
up  the  centre  alley  to  the  square  pew  in  front 
of  the  pulpit  with  unimpaired  dignity.  Selina 
Jane  Edwards  scarcely  got  a  day's  work  at 
the  Manor  House  in  a  fortnight.  If  anything 
were  amiss,  therefore,  it  must  be  some  deep- 
rooted  complaint  not  apparent  on  the  sur- 
face nor  quickly  cured,  but  requiring  constant 
watching.     And  this  proved  to  be  the  case. 

One  morning, — it  was  on  the  first  of  August, 
to  be  precise, — whilst  serving  a  late  breakfast, 
Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell,  full  of  news,  again  used 
the  window  as  an  observatory  from  which  to 
note  the  movements  of  wandering  bodies  in 
the  Sutton  firmament. 

"  So    maybe  you've   a-heard — though  no, 


3oo  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

you  can't,  to  be  sure,  since  'twere  but  settled 
last  night  between  supper  an'  bed — that  Miss 
Letty  Purchase  is  to  wed  wi'  the  young  '  local 
tremens,'  an'  he  to  set  up  in  trade  for  his  own 
self  come  next  New  Year.  Ha !  There  is 
Miss  Letty,  just  out  d  gate,  in  the  little  pony 
an  trap,  holiday  time  begun,  off  to  the  station 
to  fetch  back  the  two  boys,  I'll  warrant  it. 
Oh  yes,  an'  the  time  o'  the  wedden  not  yet 
fixed  for  certain,  but  not  a  long-  ena-a£ement, 
for,  to  be  sure,  when  a  man  do  take  a 
house,  an'  a  doctor  in  partic'lar,  he  don't 
want  to  live  single.  Ha !  Heres  one  d 
the  maids  a-runnen  up  to  Heppell.  That's 
for  the  carpenter  to  move  the  fourposter 
into  the  spare  r 00171,  two  beds  there  for  the  boys, 
an  Dr.  Willoughby  to  have  the  iron  bedstead 
in  the  room  t'other  end  wi  the  two  winders 
where  the  roses  do  grow.  For  Dr.  Willoughby 
is  to  bide  there  for  a  week  or  more,  now  Dr. 
Thwaite  is  home  again,  otherwise  he  was  to 
lef  to-day,  but  now  o'  course  all's  altered. 
Ha  !  There  s  Mrs.  William  Purchase  out  in 
front  garden,  an  down  to  zvall  to  peep  up  the 
road.     '  Tis  no  good,  my  good  ooman,for  a  full 


A  COUPLE  O'  YOUNG  CAUTIONS        301 

half -hour  yet.  Though  they  boys  11  sweat  thik 
pony,  I  warrnt  it.  They  be  sich  a  couple  d 
young  cautions.  They  be.  Ah  !  well  there  ! 
Poor  Miss  Letty  'ull  have  a  time  now.  Co ! 
They  won't  gie  her  no  peace,  I'll  warr'nt  it. 
There  !  They  be !  'Twas  they  what  put 
Selina  Jane  Edwards'  goat  into  old  Betsy 
Mogridge's  dresser  cupboard.  Come  night 
an'  he  hungry,  he  did  bleaty.  Ho  !  Fright- 
ened the  poor  old  soul  out  of  her  wits.  She 
thought  'twere  the  devil.  First  she  hollered 
fire !  an'  then  she  hollered  out  for  the  p'lice- 
man.  Still,  'twere  cruelish,  for  the  old  Betsy 
do  declare  to  this  day  that  the  goat  ate  full 
half  of  a  empty  pickle-bottle.  But  Miss  Letty, 
she  won't  care.  Elder  sister,  you  see,  by  up 
five  year  ;  she  do  love  they  boys.  But  la ! 
they  be  a  couple  of  young  cautions,  they  be ! 
Ha  !  There  s  the  maid  out  from  here.  Hullo  ! 
What  do  she  run  across  to  Baker  Heath's  for, 
then  f  Anybody  dont  want  to  order  extra 
bread,  sure,  when  they  can  take  it  up.  Now 
that 's  for  bakers  cart  to  lef  a  note  wi  old 
Miss  Purchase,  over  t'other  side  d  Wynberry, 
Til  be  bound,  when  he  do  drive  his  rottnd  this 


302  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

afternoon.  That's  to  let  she  know  the  first, 
for  a  compliment  like — godmother  to  Miss 
Letty.  Aii  she  wi  money — quite  right, 
too." 

Thus  this  excellent  woman  continued  to 
pour  forth  a  most  refreshing  stream  of  the 
purest  information,  uncontaminated  with  error, 
until  the  pony  and  trap  and  "  the  three  Pur- 
chases," as  she  announced,  appeared  in  the 
distance.  Ponies  always  know  when  they 
are  going  home.  This  one  came  at  a  gallop 
down  the  road. 

The  couple  of  young  cautions  are  old  friends 
from  last  Easter  vacation,  and  I  went  to  the 
window  to  see  them  arrive.  They  were  al- 
ready on  the  causeway,  two  frank,  healthy 
boys,  thirteen  and  fifteen,  in  short  jackets, 
broad  collars,  and  white  straw  hats,  consent- 
ing- to  be  kissed. 

"Hullo!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell 
by  my  shoulder.  "  That's  not  a  Purchase 
bag,  that  yaller  one,  I'd  take  my  affydavy. 
Now,  only  to  think.  She've  a-fetched  his  bag. 
Just  for  a  glimpse,  you  see.  What  'tis  to  be 
young!    An  he  to  drive  round  wi  Dr.  Thwaite 


A  COUPLE  O'  YOUNG  CAUTIONS        303 

no  doubt,  an    be  dropped  on   the   way  home. 
Co !     Letty  Purchase !     You  young  maid! " 

Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  was  so  touched  by 
this  instance  of  love's  devotion  that  she  wiped 
her  right  eye  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

A  certain  gift  of  idleness,  which  will  waste 
hours  in  the  finding  a  bird's  nest,  first  en- 
deared me  to  the  couple  o'  young  cautions. 
We  are  chums. 

It  is  needless  to  distinguish  between  Master 
William  and  Master  George.  They  dress 
alike.  In  spite  of  differences  of  opinion,  they 
think  alike.  They  talk  alike.  Each  is,  in- 
deed, a  replica,  on  a  reduced  scale,  of  Mr. 
William  Purchase  himself.  When  we  under- 
take an  expedition  together,  they  walk  one 
on  each  side  and  pour  out  their  fresh  young 
thoughts  in  alternate  phrases,  very  like  the 
psalms  were  read  between  the  parson  and 
the  clerk  in  an  old-fashioned  village  church. 

Shortly  after  their  arrival  we  went  down 
the  river  of  an  evening  after  a  hot  day  to 
swim  in  the  tepid  water  of  a  deep,  still  reach. 
They  were  pleased  to  impart  their  views  of 


304  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Dr.  Willoughby,  and  to  signify,  with  certain 
limitations,  their  approval  of  the  engagement. 
"  I  say,  sir,  what  a  lark  !     Letty  going  to 
be  married  next  spring  !  " 

"We  do  rot  her,  sir,  because " 

"  You  see,  he's  a  Londoner " 

"  And  so  he  doesn't  know  anything " 


"  And  Letty  knows  an  awful  lot  for  a  girl." 
"  Oh  yes.     Quite  as  much  as  a  boy." 

"  Of  course  he  can't  help  it,  but  still " 

"  We  tell  Letty  he's  an  awful  muff." 
"  Because  we  stuff  him  up  all  wrong." 

"  And  then  he  goes  and  tells  her " 

"  And    then    she   put   holly  leaves  in  our 

boots " 

"  So  we  want  to  eet  even  with  her " 


"  And,  you    see,   he    really  can't    shoot   a 

rabbit " 

"He  can't  shoot  a  haystack " 


"  But  Letty  won't  let  him  come  out  of  an 
evening " 

"  Because,  of  course,  she  wants  to  take 
him  off " 

"For  a  walk  in  the  wood  or  somewhere " 

"  So  he's  going  to  get  up  to  pot  a  rabbit " 


A  COUPLE  O'  YOUNG  CAUTIONS        305 

"To-morrow  before  breakfast,  and  we're 
to  call  him " 

"  Just  as  it  gets  light.  So,  presently,  when 
we  get  back " 

"  We're  o-oinq-  to  stick  a  dead  rabbit " 


"  Up  in  the  old  willow  tree,  near  to  the 

pit 

"  In  the  middle  of  six  acres " 


"Where  he  can't  help  seeing  it " 

"Then  he'll  tell  about  it  at  breakfast, 
and " 

"  We  shall  send  the  rabbit  to  Letty " 

"In  a  brown  paper  parcel " 

"With  his  love." 

I  ventured  to  express  the  misgiving  that 
he  might  not  believe  in  the  willow  tree. 
They  admitted  a  weak  point  in  the  conspiracy, 
but  hoped  to  overcome  it.  They  had  thought, 
they  were  good  enough  to  tell  me,  that  if  I 
would  join  the  party  and  give  countenance 
to  the  proceedings  with  a  grave  face,  all 
would  be  well.  As  an  encouragement,  they 
promised  to  run  across  and  throw  pebbles 
at  my  window  in  time  to  secure  me  against 
the  humiliation  of  being  late. 


306  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Do  come.      It  will  be  such  a  lark." 
"  And  of  course  Letty  will  know  you  are 
not  such  a  duffer " 


"  Only,  she  can't  put  holly  in  your  boots." 
The  argument  was  unanswerable — the  ex- 
pedition enlisted  a  recruit. 

We  started  when  the  birds  were  twittering 
in  the  grey  morning,  and  before  the  last  of 
the  bats  had  retired  to  their  hollow  tree. 
No  other  person  in  the  village  had  risen, 
and  no  living  thing  had  been  disturbed.  By 
the  corner  of  a  field  of  wheat,  where  the  corn 
heavy  in  ear  had  been  laid  down  by  the 
thunder-storm,  three  ducks  got  up  and  flew 
away  to  the  withy  beds  far  down  the  river, 
where  they  pass  the  day  in  quiet  security. 
As  we  walked,  the  young  lover  talked  with 
regret  of  his  ignorance  of  country  sights 
and  living  creatures.  His  father  being-  in 
practice  in  London,  he  had  gone  to  a  city 
school  and  his  boyhood  never  enjoyed  the 
freedom  of  the  fields.  The  dawn  came  over 
the  hill.  The  thin  clouds  above  the  eastern 
horizon  reddened,  leapt  into  flame,  and  then 
brightened   to   gold.     The    dew  that  lay  so 


A  COUPLE  O'  YOUNG  CAUTIONS        307 

misty  grey  upon  the  grass  suddenly  caught 
the  light,  and  there  was  a  glistening  diamond 
on  every  blade. 

As  to  the  rabbits,  they  were  everywhere 
and  far  afield.  After  the  hours  of  un- 
disturbed darkness  they  are  less  timid  than 
at  evening  twilight,  and  the  steps  of  the 
rabbit-potter  are  almost  noiseless  on  the 
moist,  dewy  ground.  Dr.  Willoughby  dis- 
charged his  gun  frequently,  but  without 
visible  result. 

The  old  willow  tree  stands  alone,  leaning 
with  age  and  the  experience  of  bitter  winter 
storms.  Its  leaves  shivered  white  in  the 
morning  breeze. 

"But  do  rabbits  climb  trees?"  he  asked 
in  doubt. 

"  Not  habitually,"  said  I. 

"  Of  course  they  can't  climb  a  straight 
tree " 

"  But  only  a  very  leaning  trunk " 

"  That  they  can  run  along." 

Thus  the  couple  o'  young  cautionsjiastened 
to  prop  up  my  inefficient  support.  They 
were    successful.       With    wary    steps    Dr. 


3o8  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Willoughby  stalked  the  willow  tree,  dis- 
covered his  prey> — fired. 

It  was  a  good  shot.  From  the  branch  the 
rabbit  fell  dead  upon  the  grass. 

He  ran  to  pick  it  up. 

The  couple  o'  young  cautions  ran  faster,  and 
were  already  there  to  offer  congratulations. 

"Rigor  mortis"  was  all  he  said. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

CLOTHES-PEGS 

Wynberry  Beacon  is  the  highest  point  in 
this  part  of  the  country.  From  the  distant 
landscape  in  any  direction  it  may  be  seen  for 
many  miles,  a  grey  line  rising  into  a  peak 
behind  nearer  ranges  of  gentler  and  greener 
hills.  From  the  village  of  Sutton,  during  the 
warmer  months,  it  is  a  parched,  stony  height, 
issuing  from  a  broad  slope  of  delicious  shady 
wood.  Far  from  any  main  road  and  crossed 
only  by  a  rough  track,  it  remains  almost 
unknown  to  tourists  and  pleasure-seekers. 
Upon  the  summit  is  a  heap  of  stones.  A  few 
years  ago  a  swarm  of  bees,  refusing  to  listen 
to  the  beating  of  trays  and  pans,  flew  away 
from  the  woodman's  cottage  below  to  settle 
in  the  crevices  of  this  pile.  "  There  must  be 
poun's  an'  poun's  o'  honey  there  by  this  time. 


310  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Pay  to  go  up  an'  take."  So  Sutton  people 
tell  each  other.  Yet  the  bees  hold  possession 
to-day  against  all  intruders. 

Sutton  folk  are  aware  of  many  inducements 
to  climb  Wynberry,  yet  very  rarely  does  one 
of  them  attempt  it. 

"  There's  money  an'  jewels  enough  a-buried 
'pon  Wynberry  to  make  everybeddy  rich  for 
life,  if  they  could  but  put  their  finger  'pon  it." 

"  There's  a  flower,  that  some  do  know  of, 
that  do  grow  'pon  Wynberry,  that  don't  grow 
nowhere  else  'pon  earth." 

"There's  a  well  just  in  the  wood,  half  up 
Wynberry,  that  you  can  drink  an'  wish  for 
anything  you  do  long  for." 

"  Some  days  you  can  see  the  sea  from  top 
o'  Wynberry." 

These  are  some  of  the  local  traditions  about 
the  Beacon  Hill.  They  made  it  worth  a 
climb,  for  the  legend  of  hidden  riches  is  asso- 
ciated with  an  ancient  British  camp ;  the 
wishing-well  upon  the  road  may  as  well  have 
a  chance,  to  be  sure  ;  and  the  sea — though  it 
be  only  a  far-away  gleam  of  silver,  after  all 
— is  the  sea. 


CLOTHES-PEGS  311 

To  make  a  day  of  it,  I  started  of  a  morn- 
ing in  good  time.  The  sky  was  hidden  be- 
hind lofty  clouds.  So  much  the  better,  for  a 
clear  sunshine  wraps  the  landscape  in  a  light 
haze,  making  the  near  appear  distant  and 
veiling  the  far  horizon.  A  pleasant  breeze 
set  the  woods  a-rustling.  The  heavy  foliage 
of  the  oaks  was  brightened  with  the  fresh 
green  shoots  that  come  towards  the  end  of 
summer,  and  clusters  of  nuts  were  sprinkled 
all  over  the  hazel  copse.  The  lane  through 
the  wood  is  little  used,  and  I  reached  the  hill- 
side and  the  wishing-well  without  meeting  a 
living  soul. 

The  well  is  but  a  spring  bubbling  up  with- 
in a  natural  basin  of  mossy  rock  and  spread- 
ing over  a  small  rushy  swamp  on  a  bit  of 
level  roadside  waste,  now  gay  with  patches 
of  yellow  ragwort  and  bearing  the  charred 
marks  of  gipsy  fires.  The  place  was  occu- 
pied that  morning. 

A  high,  two-wheeled  cart  stood  on  a  higher 
part  of  the  waste  between  the  rushes  and  the 
flowers,  and  on  the  ground  beside  it  lay  some 
half  a  dozen  large  bags.     Seated  on  a  box 


3i2  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

near  the  shafts  was  a  man  of  about  sixty 
peeling  willow  sticks.  He  had  already  piled 
up  a  heap  of  rind  that  would  have  filled  a 
bushel  basket.  There  was  no  fire  and  neither 
of  the  hearths  was  smoking.  As  I  drew  near 
he  stood  up,  a  straight,  upright  man  of  six 
feet  in  height  in  a  long  waistcoat  with  num- 
erous buttons  and  large  pocket-flaps.  He 
looked  at  me  with  anxiety  and  then  seemed 
reassured. 

"Did  you  meet  with  anybody  on  the 
way  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  one." 

He  sat  down  ao-ain  and  went  on  with  his 
work. 

"They  moved  us  on  from  the  other  side 
at  daylight,"  he  explained,  but  seemed  in  no 
humour  for  talking. 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  rain  ? " 

He  took  a  glance  at  the  sky. 

"It  can't." 

So  I  took  his  word  for  it  and  plodded  up 
the  hill. 

From  the  beacon-head  there  is  a  broad 
view  of  open  country  upon  every  side,  and 


CLOTHES-PEGS  313 

dotted  over  it  are  villages  such  as  Sutton — 
clusters  of  roofs  around  a  church  tower,  with 
outlying  farms  sprinkled  between  them. 
Everywhere  the  hayfields  were  green  with 
the  aftergrass,  and  the  great  squares  of 
yellow  corn,  billowing  under  the  wind,  were 
ripening  for  the  harvester.  There  was  no- 
thing begun  as  yet  but  here  and  there  a  field 
of  winter  beans.  Just  by  the  foot  of  the  hill 
I  could  watch  the  reaper  as  he  bent  the  tough 
stalks  with  his  crook,  struck  with  his  sickle, 
drew  the  reap  together  over  his  foot,  and 
stepped  back  to  bind  the  sheaf.  His  Saxon 
forefathers  may  have  cut  their  grain  quite  in 
the  same  way.  And  yet  on  the  Sutton  road 
a  new  patent  reaper  and  binder  clattered  by 
in  haste  to  be  overhauled  by  the  smith.  In 
the  far  distance  a  trail  of  white  steam  from  a 
passing  express  steadily  made  its  way  with- 
out stopping  from  one  side  of  the  landscape 
to  the  other.  And  quite  near  a  gipsy  caravan, 
all  in  its  red  and  yellow,  with  a  brass  knocker 
on  its  door  and  blue  smoke  rising  from  the 
chimney  in  its  roof,  slowly  crept  around  the 
hill.     You    may  see   many  things   close    to- 


314  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

gether  which  in  spirit  are  wide  apart,  if  you 
will  only  climb  high  enough  to  look  at  the 
broad  expanse. 

Wynberry  hill  was  a  stronghold  of  pre- 
historic man,  and  on  the  same  ridge  are  three 
barrows  under  which  his  chiefs  lie  buried. 
"  Wynberry  three  humps  "  they  are  called  by 
Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell,  and  there  the  riches  lie 
hidden.  Now  it  is  a  lovely  sheep-run,  bitten 
so  close,  that  one  can  scarcely  recognise  the 
grasses  and  pigmy  clovers  that  make  its 
sward.  But  mixed  with  them  is  the  purple 
of  the  wild  thyme,  though  it  will  scarcely 
scent  unless  you  bruise  it  in  your  hands. 
And  running  amongst  the  stones  on  the  hill- 
side  is  the  wheatear  in  his  white  and  black 
and  grey.  As  you  walk  along  he  will  take 
a  short  flight  and  perch  on  a  stone  to  clack 
at  you.  And  if  you  lie  on  the  slope  and 
watch  him  you  will  soon  find  the  treasure 
that  lies  hidden  on  Wynberry — a  nest  of 
grass  and  roots,  in  a  rabbit's  hole  and  lined 
with  rabbit's  fur,  containing  half  a  dozen  eggs 
of  a  pale  greenish  blue. 

By  my  return  towards  evening  the  gipsy 


CLOTHES-PEGS  315 

had  pitched  his  camp  —  two  canvas  tents, 
neither  covering  a  much  greater  space  than 
an  old-fashioned  gig-umbrella.  It  was  surely 
the  smallest  encampment  ever  seen  ;  but  now 
a  curlino-  wreath  of  blue  smoke  arose  against 
the  background  of  yellow  gorse  and  the  bright 
green  of  the  beech  foliage. 

I  took  up  the  morning's  conversation. 

"  I  saw  your  friends  down  the  village. 
May  I  come  and  light  my  pipe  ?  " 

"Welcome,"  said  he.  "Who  did  you 
see  ?  " 

"  A  man,  a  woman,  two  children,  a  van, 
two  loose  horses,  and  two  dogs,"  said  I. 

He  appeared  to  think  it  over,  but  gave  up 
the  idea  of  identification.  "  I  can't  say  who 
that  can  be,"  replied  he,  shaking  his  head. 
"  As  to  friends,  we  are  all  friends.  But  there 
are  only  two  to  come  back  here." 

At  that  moment  an  old  woman  came  in 
view  from  behind  the  gorse  and  stepped  on 
to  the  wayside.  She  carried  a  basket  on  her 
right  arm  and  a  brush  in  each  hand.  She 
was  unmistakably  gipsy,  not  of  the  dark- 
eyed  type,  but  with  the  very  small  brown  face 


316  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

and  pointed  chin.  She  glanced  sharply  at 
the  intruder,  who  might  have  come  to  order 
them  off,  placed  her  basket  and  brushes  in 
the  cart,  spoke  of  "the  roughness  of  the  day, 
gentleman,"  in  a  coaxing,  cringing  voice,  and 
crouched  down  close  to  the  fire. 

I  hoped  she  had  found  luck. 

"  No  ;  there  is  no  luck,  my  gentleman." 

The  man  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side. 
Beside  him  was  a  heap  of  biscuit  tins  and 
canisters  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  and  with  a 
pair  of  long  pincers  he  held  them  in  the  fire, 
melted  the  solder,  and  burnt  off  the  paper 
labels,  spread  them  abroad,  and  then,  with  a 
handful  of  moss  and  earth,  polished  the 
flattened  metal. 

"  I  suppose  you  ask  at  houses  for  the  empty 
tins  ?" 

"  More  often  at  the  shops.  We  sell  more 
clothes-pegs  in  towns  to  the  shops.  There 
is  no  call  for  them  in  the  villages.  They 
don't  use  many  there." 

"  But  I  see  clothes  hanging  up  everywhere." 

"  They've  got  all  they  want.  Pegs  last  for 
years.      Besides,  they  dry  more  on  the  hedge- 


CLOTHES-PEGS  317 

rows  than  they  do  on  the  line.  But  take  a 
town,  now,  with  gardens  shut  in  by  walls — 
they  must  have  a  line  there.  But  then  they 
don't  want  when  we  call.  They  buy  at  the 
shops  there." 

"  What  do  you  charge  for  them  ?  " 
"  A  shilling  a  gross  to  the  shops." 
"  How  long  does  it  take  to  make  a  gross  ?  " 
"  Three  gross  a  day  is  good  work,"  said  he  ; 
"  but  we  are  up  before  all  the  stars  are  gone  in." 
"  Well,  you  do  not  pay  much  for  the 
material,"  I  laughed. 

The  man  laughed  also.  "  No.  There's 
plenty  of  willow  down  below  ;  and  some  in 
the  hedges  too,  but  not  so  straight." 

The  old  woman  had  hitherto  remained 
silent.  The  spot  was  well  chosen.  Gorse 
and  hedgerow  made  so  complete  a  shelter 
that,  until  it  reached  the  wind,  the  smoke  rose 
in  a  straight  column.  Peering  down  into  the 
embers,  her  brown  hands  outstretched  towards 
the  warmth,  she  looked  like  a  wizened  little 
witch  working  an  enchantment.  At  my  re- 
mark about  the  willows  she  suddenly  glanced 
up  and  changed  into  a  prophetess. 


318  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  There'll  be  no  pay,  my  gentleman,  in  the 
world  to  come." 

"  I  suppose  not.  But  no  doubt  there  are 
free  willows  here  if  you  do  not  take  them  from 
the  wrong  place." 

"  They  do  grow  for  one  and  all,"  cried  she, 
in  a  shrill  voice.  "So  do  the  hares  and  the 
little  rabbits,  gentleman.  'Tis  man-made  laws, 
and  to  break  'em  is  no  wrong." 

Her  philosophy  was  becoming  too  profound 
for  me. 

"  I  suppose  you  belong  to  a  bigger  camp, 
and  go  back  to  it  ?  " 

Then  she  became  talkative.  "  No.  One 
more  to  come  in  and  that  makes  all."  She 
waved  her  finger  round,  pointing  first  at  the 
cart  and  then  at  the  two  tents.  "  All  we  ever 
had,  or  our  fathers,  his  or  mine,  before  us. 
Summer  and  winter  nothing  more.  Though 
we  don't  travel  much  in  winter,  when  we  find 
a  lew  place,  unless  they  move  us  on." 

"  You  must  have  been  all  over  the  country?  " 

"  Never  more  than  twenty  mile*away  from 
here." 

"  Then  you  do  not  wander  straight  on  ? " 


CLOTHES-PEGS  319 

"  No,  my  gentleman,  we  go  round  the 
same  beat,  summer  after  summer." 

In  front  of  one  of  the  tents  a  stick  had  been 
driven  into  the  ground.  It  was  about  2  in.  in 
diameter,  and  stood  about  1  ft.  high.  I  had 
heard  of  wands  and  stakes  in  gipsy  camps 
bearing  a  deep  significance.  But  the  man 
observed  my  glance. 

"  That's  to  cut  off  the  clothes-pegs  on," 
said  he. 

He  sat  down  on  a  bag,  which  I  think  was 
to  serve  as  a  mattress,  drew  a  sheath-knife, 
took  a  willow  wand  already  peeled,  and 
measured  the  length  by  means  of  a  piece  of 
hazel  cut  half  through  at  the  right  distance 
and  split  down  to  the  cut.  Then  he  hammered 
the  knife  through  the  willow,  using  the  stake 
as  a  block. 

He  chucked  the  little  5-in.  piece  upon  a 
heap  of  hundreds  of  others  which  he  had  cut 
off  during  the  day.  "  But  they  must  dry,  and 
there  has  been  no  sun  to-day,"  said  he.  How- 
ever, to  show  me,  he  split  a  peg  and  pared 
it  to  widen  the  fork.  On  the  same  block  he 
hammered  on  the   little    ring   of   biscuit  tin 


32o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

which  prevents  the  split  from  going  too  far 
under  pressure  of  a  clothes-line.  Here  was 
the  article  complete. 

"  I  thought  the  stake  mioht  have  some 
meaning,"  said  I.  "I  have  heard  that  a  stick 
is  driven  into  the  ground  and  that  the  camp 
sits  in  a  circle  around  when  any  question  has 
to  be  discussed,  or  the  conduct  of  any  member 
wants  looking  into." 

The  old  woman  got  up.  "  That  was  a 
council,"  she  cried  in  a  shrill  voice.  "But 
that  is  all  gone  with  the  rest.  'Tis  all  gone. 
We  be  but  wandering  folk  now,  all  of  a  kin, 
'tis  true,  but  never  meet  except  by  chance. 
There  is  no  Romany  now.  The  best  has  but 
a  few  words " 

"Yes.  That  was  a  council,"  put  in  the 
man.  "  'Twas  a  peeled  stick.  But  that's 
gone  years  ago.  I  never  saw  a  council. 
But  that  was  the  old  way — handed  down  and 
never  changed — right  from  Jerusalem  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  from  Jerusalem  ?  " 

"We  all  came  from  Jerusalem,"  explained 
he. 

"Yes;    we  all  came  from    Jerusalem,   my 


CLOTHES-PEGS  321 

gentleman.  That's  true.  We  all  know  that," 
cried  the  old  woman. 

"  I  thought  you  came  from  India." 

But  they  both  would  have  "Jerusalem, 
Jerusalem." 

After  all,  there  is  a  good  foundation  in 
history  for  this  tradition.  When,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the  gipsies  made 
their  progress  westward  across  Europe,  they 
pretended  and  were  everywhere  believed  to 
be  pilgrims  from  the  Holy  Land.  On  this 
ground  they  were  at  first  treated  with  kind- 
ness and  obtained  letters  of  protection  from 
rulers  and  persons  in  authority.  No  doubt 
they  made  the  most  of  the  claim,  and  it  might 
quite  easily  become  the  belief  of  later  genera- 
tions. 

Just  then  a  pedlar  in  rags  came  in  view 
around  a  bend  of  the  road. 

At  once  the  man  forsook  his  clothes-pegs 
and  stepped  forward  to  adjust  a  crook  over 
the  fire.  The  woman  moved  about,  gleaning 
a  dry  stick  or  two — then  pulled  off  a  bush  of 
dead  gorse.  At  once  the  flames  leapt  up 
around  the  cooking  vessel. 


322  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

To  stay  longer  would  be  absolutely  to  court 
an  invitation  to  dine. 

"  Well,  here's  luck.  I  hope  you  will  have  a 
quiet  night  and  that  nobody  will  hurry  you  on." 

"  Here's  luck  !  "  replied  the  man. 

"  But  oh,  my  blessed  gentleman,"  cried 
she,  "  if  you  should  ever  sit  in  judgment  upon 
one  of  us,  bear  in  mind  'tis  man-made  laws 
and  no  wrong.  No  wrong,  my  blessed  gentle- 
man— no  wrono- — no  wrono- !  " 

o  o 

In  the  deepening  gloom  under  the  trees, 
with  her  shrill  voice  still  ringing  in  my  ears,  I 
could  not  help  wondering  whether  I  had  spent 
an  hour  with  a  Hebrew  prophetess.  "  No 
wrong  !  Man-made  laws  !  "  Or  was  she,  after 
all,  only  a  suffragette  ? 

The  presence  of  a  two-wheeled  cart,  even 
with  the  shafts  empty  and  aslant,  would  seem 
to  involve  the  existence  of  a  horse. 

Where  could  the  horse  be  spending  this 
quiet  day  ? 

There  are  no  byways  on  that  solitary 
woodland  road.  That  he  was  not  on  the 
roadside  for  miles  in  either  direction  I  can 
take  my  oath. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE  MEADOW-SAFFRON  PICKERS 

It  is  pleasant  of  an  evening  to  wander  down 
to  the  mill. 

Towards  the  end  of  summer,  when  the  river 
is  low,  the  mill-wheel  frequently  does  not  stop 
until  late.  The  water  is  too  precious  to  be 
wasted.  The  mill-head  fills  so  slowly,  that,  if 
the  water  is  run  off  the  last  thing  at  night,  the 
stream  does  not  rise  to  flow  over  the  weir 
before  morning.  So  young  Miller  Toop  is 
generally  about  the  place  giving  ear  to  the 
voice  of  the  mill,  ready  to  put  more  grain  into 
the  hopper  and  to  raise  or  lower  the  millstone 
to  its  proper  feed  if  needs  be. 

The  back  stream  then  is  almost  dry.  Be- 
tween times  he  walks  around  the  banks  with 
his  dogs,  or  on  to  the  island  to  look  for  young 
-ats,  hidden  amongst  the  broad  leaves  of  the 


324  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

butter  burs.  Sometimes  he  daps  for  a  trout 
with  a  natural  fly  between  the  alder  bushes 
that  hang  over  the  millpool.  Or,  sitting  on 
the  stone  wall  beside  the  millrace,  with  the 
water  dashing  by  below  his  feet,  he  smokes 
his  pipe  and  waits  for  the  waggon  to  come 
home  empty  from  its  round,  and  be  backed 
with  its  tail  towards  the  mill-floor  ready  for  a 
load  in  the  morning.  He  stands  and  talks  to 
the  carter  whilst  the  horses  are  "  hitched  out," 
or  to  any  chance  passer-by,  for  he  has  plenty 
of  leisure,  although  he  will  not  go  far  from  the 
mill. 

I  strolled  down  one  evening,  after  the  hay 
in  the  water-meadows  had  all  been  carried,  and 
from  both  sides  of  the  valley  came  the  pleasant 
fragrance  of  new-made  ricks.  Along  the  brook 
and  leaning  over  the  stagnant  ditches  the 
meadow-sweet  was  still  in  flower.  Where  the 
river  bank  had  slipped  away,  I  pushed  a  path 
through  a  thick  forest  of  aromatic  tansy  and 
still  taller  willow-herb  with  purple  flowers 
having  a  scent  so  much  like  roasted  apples 
that  they  have  gained  the  local  name  of 
"  codlins  and  cream,"  and  from  this  wilderness 


THE  MEADOW-SAFFRON  PICKERS       325 

peered  down  into  the  water.  The  stream  was 
but  a  mere  trickle.  Over  a  bank  of  stone  it 
fell  bubbling"  into  a  pool,  and  went  gliding  out 
of  it  among  leaning  rushes  that  swayed  and 
quivered  as  the  hidden  water  passed.  On  the 
root  of  an  old  pollard  willow  jutting  out  from 
the  opposite  bank  sat  a  vole.  He  was  quietly- 
munching  the  succulent  stem  of  a  pond-weed 
which  he  had  pulled  out  of  the  water.  And 
close  below  my  feet,  unsuspicious  of  an  ob- 
server, two  lusty  trout  went  lazily  around  the 
pool,  from  the  shadow  of  the  alder  bush  into 
the  sunlight  and  back  again.  Sometimes,  as 
if  by  a  mere  whim,  one  or  the  other  would 
slowly  rise  to  swallow  some  more  than  usually 
tempting  fly.  But  the  movement  was  deliber- 
ate and  without  hunger. 

"  'Tis  too  early  by  a  couple  of  hours." 
There  was  the  young  miller  watching  also 
from  the  opposite  bank. 

"  They  can  see  too  much  until  dusk." 
"And   later  than   that,"  laughed  he.      "I 
always  find  the  best  time  to  hook  'em  is  when 
'tis  too  late  to  get  'em  out." 

In  the  distance,  wandering  to  and  fro  in  the 


326  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

meadow,  were  an  old  woman  and  two  young 
girls.  They  appeared  to  be  mushrooming,  for 
they  searched  the  ground  and  every  now  and 
then  stooped  to  gather  something.  Yet  I  had 
not  seen  a  mushroom  when  I  walked  down  to 
the  brook.  I  stuck  my  rod  in  the  ground  above 
the  willow-herb  and  was  ready  for  a  chat. 

"  What  are  they  looking  for  over  there  ?  " 

"'Tis  the  old  Betsy  Mogridge  with  Selina 
Jane  Edwards'  Rosie  Ann  and  another  dig- 
ging up  crocuses." 

"  Crocuses ! " 

"Yes.  You  know — the  purple  summer 
crocuses.     There's  a  lot  of  them  down  there." 

"  What  do  they  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  Now  do  you  stroll  across  and  ask  the  old 
woman.  She  do  dig  'em  up  every  year — but 
she's  the  only  one.  You  ask  her,  just  to  see 
what  she'll  say." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  perceive  a  joke  behind 
this  matter.  So  I  crossed  the  meadow  to 
where  the  little  Rosie  Ann  and  another  apple- 
faced,  short-frocked  maid  from  school  were 
thrusting  forks  into  the  ground  with  the 
greatest  industry. 


THE  MEADOW-SAFFRON  PICKERS      327 

"  What  are  you  after  ?  " 

Rosie  Ann  looked  up  with  a  broad  grin  on 
her  face. 

"  We  do  dig  up  the  roots  o'  the  wild 
crocuses,"  said  she. 

That  was  her  way  of  putting  it,  as,  with 
a  certain  pride  in  the  exploit,  she  lifted  out 
of  the  moist  earth  a  bulb  of  the  meadow- 
saffron. 

"  What  do  you  do  with  them  ?  " 

Before  answering  she  glanced  at  the  old 
woman.     Then  she  spoke  in  a  whisper — 

"  Granny  have  a-got  orders  vor  'em — to 
send  'em  away." 

"  And  do  many  people  dig  up  crocuses  ?  " 

"  Not  about  here.  They  did  use  to  years 
agone.  Nobeddy  don't  do  it  now  but  granny. 
She  do  know  of  a  place  where  she  do  send 
'em,  look-y-zee.  But  she  don't  never  tell 
nobeddy  about  that." 

The  crouching  old  woman  rose  up  from  her 
work  with  a  look  of  surprise  on  her  face,  and 
came  hobbling  across  to  hear  what  all  this 
talk  was  about. 

"Good  a'ternoon.     'Tes  a  beaudivul  fine 


328  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

a'ternoon,"  said  she,  with  a  curtsey,  and  a 
deference  which  seemed  to  smack  of  guile. 

The  old  Betsy  Mogridge  is  a  little, 
wrinkled,  gimlet-eyed  grandmother  in  a  sun- 
bonnet,  and  she  held  her  apron  gathered  up 
in  her  left  hand. 

I  agreed  with  her  on  the  matter  of  the 
weather. 

She  shook  her  head  thoughtfully  and,  with 
an  air  of  settled  conviction,  looked  upon  the 
ground,  and  added — 

"  Zo  'tes." 

"What  are  these  used  for?  Can  you  tell 
me?"  said  I,  venturing  to  take  a  bulb  from 
her  apron. 

"  Physic,"  said  she  shortly. 

"  What  will  they  cure  ?  " 

"  Now  that  I  couldn'  swear  to,"  replied  she 
solemnly.  "  There  wur  a  wold  ooman,  when 
I  wur  a  little  maid  the  size  o'  these,  did  bile 
'em  in  verjuice  an'  mix  that  wi'  honey  to  take 
vor  the  brantitis.  Still,  didn'  cure  she  vor 
ever,  vor  in  the  end  she  died  most  terr'ble 
sudden.  She  ded.  They  do  tell  I  they  do 
use  it   for    the   gout.     So    they  do.     Massy 


GIPSY  ENCAMPMENT 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


mfc 


THE  MEADOW-SAFFRON  PICKERS      329 

'pon  us!  I've  a-got  no  use  vor  it  myzelf. 
But  I  wouldn'  tell  you  wrong,  mind,  vor  you 
to  lead  yourzelf  astray.  'Tes  a  thing  'ull 
pizen  a  body.      Zo  'tes." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  sell  it  to  a  chemist — 
a  manufacturing  chemist  ?  "  I  suggested. 

She  looked  up  at  the  blue  sky  and 
thought. 

"  I  wouldn'  decaive  you,"  said  she  gravely, 
"  not  vor  a  vi-pun  note  I  wouldn'.  I  couldn' 
rightly  say  what  the  man  do  do.  No  !  I 
could  not." 

"  But  isn't  it  printed  on  the  top  of  his 
letter  ? " 

"  I  ben't  no  scholard  myzelf,  I  ben't.  I  do 
carr'  'em  in  to  town,  I  do,  an'  a  friend  do  send 
'em  off  for  me.  He  rade  the  letter  for  I 
when  it  corned." 

"  But  somebody  in  Sutton  would  have  been 
pleased  to  read  it  to  you  ? " 

"  I  don't  never  ax  nobeddy  'bout  here  to 
rade  a  letter  for  I,  I  don't.  You  can't  never 
tell  what  mid  be  in  a  letter  afore  he's  a-rade 
out.     An'  folk  will  talk." 

"  No  doubt." 


33° 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 


"I'd  sooner  any  time  traipse  six  mile.  He 
do  know  all  about  it." 

"  And  of  course  he  need  not  tell  you." 

"There,  you  see,  I  be  up  in  years,  I  be, 
an'  I  can't  carr'  things  in  mind,  same's  I 
could.  'Tes  terr'ble  wrong  to  say  more  'an 
you  do  know.     Zo  'tes." 

A  few  yards  away  one  full-blown  blossom 
stood  high  above  the  short  grass. 

"Though  'tes  job  enough  to  find  'em, 
mind,  wi'  never  a  leaf  to  guide  'ee,  zo  'tes," 
said  she  as  she  moved  towards  it  but  did  not 
stoop. 

Of  a  pale  lilac  colour,  with  five  petals 
spreading  from  a  paler  slender  tube,  the 
meadow-saffron,  the  colchicum  of  the  phar- 
macopoeia, is  surely  the  most  delicate  of  all 
the  autumn  flowers.  It  has  no  sheltering 
leaves.  They  have  gone  before  the  flowers 
appear.  It  blossoms  just  in  time  to  be  before 
the  early  autumn  frosts,  and  withers  without 
leaving  any  indication  of  its  fruit.  The  ovary 
lies  under  the  ground  at  the  bottom  of  the 
tube,  and  there  spends  the  winter  secure  from 
cold.      In  the  spring  seed-stalks  and  shelter- 


THE  MEADOW-SAFFRON  PICKERS      331 

ing  leaves  spring  up  together.  The  seeds 
mature  and  drop.  The  leaves  wither  and 
completely  disappear  before  the  flowers  of 
next  season  sprinkle  the  meadows. 

"  But  you  have  passed  one  there,"  said  I, 
pointing  out  that  early  individual  which  had 
come  a  little  before  its  time. 

"Oh,  he's  no  good,"  laughed  the  old 
woman.  "  They'll  write  an'  grumble  to  I  if 
I  do  send  very  many  that  be  out  in  full  flower. 
Just  a-peep  is  old  enough.  There  idden  the 
strangth  in  'em,  so  they  do  say.  An'  I  can 
well  believe  it,  I  can.  There  idden  the 
strangth  in  I  that  there  wur  when  I  wur 
young  an'  growen.  'Tes  wold  an'  weak  wi' 
all  liven  things,  I  do  suppose.     Zo  'tes." 

"  Then  how  do  you  find  them  at  all  ? " 

But  before  replying  this  ancient  lady 
walked  across  to  that  solitary  flower,  and, 
while  she  forked  it  up,  addressed  it  in  terms 
of  derision,  as  one  might  a  forward  child. 

"  You  be  too  fast  by  half,"  cried  she,  hold- 
ing it  up  to  tear  away  the  petals.  "I  do 
suppose  you  fancied  yourzelf  most  terr'ble, 
didn'  ee  ?   a-stucked  up  there  so    wonderful 


332  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

rathe  an'  fine,  afore  all  the  rest  o'  your  own 
sart.  So  now  you  be  a-digged  up,  so  you  be. 
Though,  ver'ly  an'  truly,  in  good  right,  I 
didn't  ought  to  put  ee  in.      I  ded  not." 

She  paused  and  narrowly  eyed  the  bulb,  as 
a  young  angler — or  an  old  one,  on  a  hopeless 
day — will  sometimes  look  at  a  slightly  under- 
sized trout. 

"  I  ded  not,"  she  repeated  again  and  shook 
her  head. 

"There,  'tes  but  one.  They'll  never  hook 
out    he.     Though    'tes   wrono-    I    do    know. 

o  o' 

Zo  'tes."  Then,  having  clearly  established 
the  immorality  of  the  proceeding,  she  dropped 
the  bulb  into  the  apron. 

"  No,  no,"  she  presently  went  on,  returning 
to  the  previous  subject,  "  they  will  not  have 
'em  in  flower.  So  we  do  squint  an'  poke 
about  to  eye  'em  like,  jus'  the  very  minute 
they  do  begin  to  peep  above  ground.  Why, 
bless  my  heart  an'  soul,  should  ha'  to  turn  up 
all  the  ground  like  teddy  diggen  if  we  didden 
wait  for  a  siom." 

I  began  to  squint  about  myself,  "  to  eye  'em 
like,"  in  company  with  the  little  fresh-coloured 


THE  MEADOW-SAFFRON  PICKERS      333 

Rosie  Ann,  who  ran  after  me  with  the  fork. 
At  least  it  was  an  open-air  pursuit,  and 
afforded  all  the  pleasures  of  search.  So  the 
evening  passed  and  dusk  came  creeping  on 
before  the  saffron  pickers  gave  over  work. 
The  blue  evening  smoke  from  cottages  among 
the  trees  gave  notice  of  the  supper  hour. 

"  And  you  send  them  to  London,  I  think 
you  said  ?" 

The  old  lady  gave  me  a  crafty  sidelong 
glance  and  reflected. 

"  Now  that  I  couldn'  rightly  say,"  said  she. 
"  But  la !  Things  be  wonderful  altered  these 
days.  'Tes  a  sad  thing  sometimes  not  to  be 
no  scholard.      Zo  'tes.     Good-night." 

"  Good-ni-eet,"  piped  the  children  also. 

"  Good-night ! " 

I  returned  to  observe  the  behaviour  of 
those  trout. 

"Well?"  the  miller  greeted  me.  "What 
does  she  do  with  'em  ?  " 

"  She — she  digs  them." 

"You  see,"  laughed  he,  "in  these  days  of 
competition  somebody  might  hook  away  her 
trade.      Little    Rosie    Ann  reads   the    corre- 


334  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

spondence  for  her.  The  old  woman  makes 
her  swear,  with  her  hand  on  the  Bible,  never 
to  tell  what's  inside  by  word  or  sign  or  look, 
every  time  before  they  open  a  letter.  At 
least,  so  all  the  folk  say." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

JANE'S  SUMMER   EXCURSION 

Down  the  river,  some  two  or  three  miles  from 
Sutton,  below  the  sheep-wash  and  the  smooth 
bathing  pool,  lies  a  low  wet  country.  Although 
covered  with  floods  in  winter,  it  cannot  be 
called  a  fen,  for  in  summer  the  best  of  it 
becomes  a  rich  grazing  country,  gilded  with 
buttercups  and  studded  with  contented  fatten- 
ing herds.  Where  the  ground  was  too  soft 
to  bear  the  treading  of  the  beasts  it  has  been 
planted  to  withy  beds.  Thus  the  landscape 
is  a  smooth  patchwork  in  irregular  squares  of 
osiers  and  of  grass.  Beside  the  only  road 
that  runs  across  it  stands  a  solitary  cottage. 
There  are  villages  and  hamlets  where  the 
distant  hills  slope  down  to  the  level,  but  its 
nearest  neighbour  is  a  mile  away. 

Should  a  stranger,  struck  by  the  undesir- 


336  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

able  situation  of  this  dwelling,  inquire,  "  Well, 
who  on  earth  lives  in  such  a  place  as  that  ?  " 
he  learns,  "  One  o'  the  name  o'  Gay."  But 
this  is  a  very  moderate  way  of  putting  it. 
There  are  so  many  of  the  name  of  Gay. 
There  is  John,  a  most  patient  industrious 
soul,  and  Jane,  as  everybody  knows,  a  very 
active,  hard-working  body.  There  are  maidens, 
strong  healthy  girls,  old  enough  to  go  into 
service,  but  they  prefer  the  winter  swamp  and 
the  summer  buttercups  and  freedom.  There 
are  children  of  both  sexes,  down  to  the  baby 
in  arms,  all  strong  as  elephants  and  active  as 
hawks.  They  are  said  to  be  rough.  But 
then,  as  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  very  justly  con- 
siders when  by  chance  we  see  one  in  Sutton 
Street,  "  Down  there,  there  is  nobody  to  mix 
wi',  an'  wi'  nobody  to  mix  wi',  children  will 
grow  up  rough."  And  they  all  live  out  of 
withies. 

There  is  much  to  be  done  in  withy  beds. 
Although  any  willow  stick  pushed  into  the 
ground  will  grow,  they  must  be  planted  and 
kept  weeded,  and  cut,  and  tied  into  bolts,  and 
soaked  and  stripped  and  dried  in  the  sun,  and 


JANE'S  SUMMER  EXCURSION  337 

tied  into  bolts  again,  before  they  are  ready  for 
the  basket-makers. 

John  looks  after  the  withy  beds,  and  Jane 
and  the  older  girls  work  at  the  stripping,  that 
is,  the  taking  off  the  rind.  So  there  is  plenty 
of  work  to  be  found  at  home.  And  at  odd 
times  John  goes  eel-spearing  in  the  broad 
ditches.  John's  maidens  can  run  and  jump 
those  ditches  like  young  gazelles. 

In  stature  John  is  a  giant,  and  straight  as 
one  of  the  withies.     Jane  is  a  Dutch  barge. 

They  remain  old  fashioned  in  all  their 
notions — not  that  modern  life  is  remote  in 
distance,  but  because  so  little  of  it  comes  their 
way.  From  their  cottage  windows  they  can 
see  what  Sutton  cannot — the  steam  of  passing 
trains  in  the  far-off  landscape,  and  when  they 
hear  the  whistle  louder  than  usual  they  pre- 
dict rain.  Trains  have  their  uses  even  for 
those  who  never  travel  by  rail,  and  the  trains 
in  that  neighbourhood  keep  more  reliable 
time  than  Jane's  old  kitchen  clock.  She 
starts  the  children  for  school,  cooks  and 
carries  John's  meals  to  the  withy  bed  by 
them   with   wonderful    regularity,  except    on 

ZZ 


333  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

the  rare  occasions  of  some  unsuspected 
tampering  with  a  well-established  time-table. 
Jane  resents  that  sort  of  thing.  It  detracts 
from  the  utility  of  trains. 

Early  this  summer,  at  about  the  age  of 
fifty,  the  conception  of  a  mighty  truth  was 
brought  about  in  Jane's  subconscious  mind. 

"  I  never  ha'n't  a-rod  in  a  train  !  " 

She  had  not  grasped  this  before.  The 
knowledge  had  lain  latent.  But  illumination 
comes  of  meditation,  and  meditation  is  born 
of  leisure.  Young  children  were  no  fewer, 
but  older  ones  had  grown  up  to  help.  That 
has  given  Jane  more  time  to  think,  and  she 
is  not  the  woman  to  hoard  her  thoughts. 
She  utters  them  and  they  circulate  freely  in 
the  family. 

Thus,  in  the  growing  time,  when  John  was 
a-hoeinof  withies  and  she  walked  across  to  the 
withy  bed  of  an  afternoon  with  a  hot  cake 
and  a  bottle  of  lukewarm  tea,  she  would 
say — 

"  Ay,  there's  the  vower  o'clock.  But 
la,  there!   I   never  shan't  ride  in  a  train." 

At  work  with  her  grown-up  girls,  stripping 


JANE'S  SUMMER  EXCURSION  339 

withies,  under  the  shed  of  a  wet  day  or  in  the 
sunshine  under  the  mossy  old  apple  tree  in 
the  garden,  she  sometimes  varied  the  tune. 

"But  la,  there!  I  seem  I  never  couldn' 
bring  myself  to  ride  in  the  train." 

Yet  always  Jane  pictured  herself  in  a 
cushioned  compartment  going  to  the  sea  by 
a  summer  shilling  excursion,  with  the  chicks 
of  her  family  around  her. 

"  But  there,  I  never  shan't,"  said  she. 

"  La,  mother,"  cried  the  elder  girl,  a 
young  person  of  experience,  who,  in  spite  of 
disadvantages  of  position,  had  found  a  young 
man  to  go  out  with,  "  'tis  so  easy  as  winking. 
You  do  but  step  in  an'  zit  yourself  down  as 
you  would  in  church  like,  an'  bide  still." 

Jane  saw  that. 

Yet  when  at  last,  as  is  reported,  John, 
finding  such  repetition  wearisome,  up  an'  said, 
"  There,  missus,  do  take  an'  go  an'  make  a 
end  of  it ! "  Jane  shook  her  head. 

"  I  couldn'  never  enjoy  myself  not  a  minute 
o'  the  day  wi'out  the  childern,"  she  said 
thoughtfully.  "  But  there,  the  four  could  go 
wi'out  pay." 


34Q  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"To  be  sure,  Jane,"  argued  John,  "you 
never  couldn'  take  'em  all.  Take  the  eight. 
There's  the  baby  in  arms,  an'  the  twins,  under 
age,  for  certain  sure — an'  maybe  you  could 
smuggle  in  little  Peter  all  so  well.  The 
others  be  all  half-tickets.  An'  look  here. 
Swill  out  the  little  hamper  that  we  do  zend 
away  the  eels  in,  an'  carr'  your  own  victuals 
to  save  expense.  You  do  deserve  it,  Jane. 
You'll  enjoy  your  day.  There's  the  say,  an' 
the  zands,  an'  the  bathers,  an'  a  Punch  an' 
Judy.  An'  when  you've  a-zeed  all  walk  down 
to  the  quay  where  the  fishen-boats  be,  an' " 

But  this  enumeration  of  joys  had  already 
proved  irresistible.     Jane  gave  way. 

John  thought  it  all  out,  chose  the  day, 
found  the  shillings,  and  gave  grave  counsel 
just  as  the  party  was  ready  to  set  out. 

"  Now,  if  'tis  all  hurry-push  and  the  train 
full,  you  bigger  ones  push  in  where  you  can. 
You  can't  make  no  mistake,  for  down  to  the 
say  is  the  end  o'  all,  an'  if  you  do  zit  still  long 
enough  they'll  turn  ee  out.  An'  Simon,  you 
take  charge  o'  the  hamper,  mind.  An'  look- 
zee,  where  there's  many  folk  there's  always 


JANE'S  SUMMER  EXCURSION  341 

rogues.  Don't  you  let  un  out  o'  your  sight. 
Don't  you  let  un  out  o'  your  hands  ;  but  zit  wi' 
un  in  your  lap.  An'  if  any  o'  ee  should  stray 
apart  like  on  the  beech,  all  go  back  over- 
right  the  station  on  the  pobble  stones.  An' 
you  that  can  tell  the  clock  mind  the  train  do 
start  at  six.  An',  please  God,  you'll  zee  it 
all — the  say  an'  the  zands  an'  the  bathing- 
machines,  an'  your  mother'll  take  ee  down  to 
the  quay  where  the  fishen-boats  do  come, 
an'  she'll " 

But  there  really  was  no  time  to  stop  to 
hear  the  end. 

They  had  to  hurry  all  along  the  dusty  road, 
and  when  they  got  in  sight  of  the  station  the 
train  was  in. 

"  All  run  for  their  lives,"  cried  Jane. 
"  Here,  Joey,  you  be  lightest  o'  foot.  Take 
the  money.      Four  halves  an'  a  whole." 

Straggling,  they  reached  the  platform. 
They  scrambled  in  where  they  could.  The 
last  thing  Jane  saw,  as  the  guard  helped  her, 
panting,  into  the  carriage,  was  Simon  with  his 
hamper,  in  spite  of  expostulation,  pushing  in 
at  the  other  end  of   the    train.     So  all  was 


342  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

well.  Jane  fanned  herself  with  a  handker- 
chief and  watched  the  fields,  noted  the  corn 
and  the  harvest,  and  kept  remarking  that 
there  were  no  withies — none  at  all. 

Yet  the  morning  began  with  a  little 
mishap. 

They  alighted  on  a  strange  platform  and 
Jane  called  together  her  chicks.  Every  one 
was  there  except  Simon.  But  that  was 
nothing.  Simon  could  take  care  of  himself, 
and  Jane  had  seen  him  get  into  the  train. 
Still,  as  the  crowd  dwindled  away,  it  did  seem 
strange  not  to  be  able  to  set  eyes  on  Simon 
and  the  hamper. 

"  The  little  rascal  really  must  ha'  jumped 
out  first.  To  think  he  couldn'  wait  a  minute 
now.  'Tis  downright  silly  to  go  off  like  that, 
I  do  call  it.  But  there,  come  on,  children, 
we  shall  find  him  a-waiting  just  in  front,  as 
his  father  said,  'pon  the  pobble  stones,"  cried 
Jane,  leading  the  way  to  the  beach.  They 
found  and  recognised  the  pebble  stones 
beyond  a  doubt,  but  neither  Simon  nor 
hamper  were  to  be  seen. 

"He  surely  must  have  got  out  wrong — 


JANE'S  SUMMER  EXCURSION  343 

little  fool — and  the  twins,  little  angels,  a- 
whinen  like  for  the  milk  in  the  ginger-beer 
bottles.  Now,  all  that  can,  take  off  their 
boots." 

Jane  set  the  five  to  paddle  whilst  she  sat 
down  on  the  stones  and  comforted  the  baby 
in  arms. 

One  by  one  the  five  fell  and  underwent 
total  immersion. 

"  Come  on,  here,"  cried  Jane  after  each 
disaster,  and  stripped  off  their  outer  garments, 
and  administered  slaps  and  set  them  in  a  row 
on  the  warm  stones  to  dry  like  peeled  withies 
in  the  sun. 

"  Now,  all  stay  here,  and  not  move,"  coaxed 
Jane,  for  something  had  to  be  done  at  last, 

"  whilst  mother  do  go  and Well,  I  never  ! 

Here's  our  Si.     Si — why " 

Sure  enough  there  was  Simon  and  the 
hamper. 

"They  turned  I  out,  mother,"  he  sobbed, 
"and  the  train  went  on." 

Subsequent  inquiry  elicited  that  the  hamper 
alone  was  the  cause  of  Simon's  mishap.  It 
was  reminiscent  of  bygone  eels  and  redolent 


344  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

of  freshly  pulled  spring  onions.  It  carried  a 
suggestion  of  blue  cheese.  Simon  would  not 
let  go,  he  would  not  put  it  under  the  seat, 
would  not  put  it  up  on  the  rack,  and  so 

"  I  held  on  to  un,  mother,  an'  I  corned  by 
the  next  train  !  "  explained  Simon. 

So  Si  had  done  well.  Jane  was  proud  of 
her  Casabianca-hearted  boy. 

Sea,  sands,  bathers,  Punch  and  Judy — 
they  saw  them  all. 

Jane,  with  the  baby  in  arms  and  the  twins 
dragging  at  her  skirt,  pushed  through  the 
crowd  and  shepherded  the  little  flock.  The 
day  was  hot.  Jane  perspired  and  the  lamb- 
kins grew  weary.  She  took  them  on  the 
warm,  loose  sand,  and  the  hamper  having 
yielded  its  last  drop  and  crumb  some  of 
them  slept. 

Then  Jane  remembered  the  quay  and  the 
boats  and  the John  had  been  quite  par- 
ticular that  she  should  go  there.  She  left 
the  seven  with  strict  injunctions  that  the 
waking  should  watch  the  sleeping,  because 
very  soon  it  would  be  time  for  the  train. 
She  hurried,  and   found   everything  just  as 


JANE'S  SUMMER  EXCURSION  345 

John  had  said.  Conscious  of  success  she 
came  back. 

The  children  were  all  there  as  good  as 
gold,  and  she  led  diem  off  to  the  station,  eager 
for  the  train.  The  crowd  was  enormous  this 
time,  for  the  shilling  excursion  was  returning 
to  all  stations.  Jane  sought  for  places  in 
vain  until,  at  the  last  moment,  an  empty 
carriage  was  added. 

"  Now  where's  Pete  ?  Where  'pon  earth 
have  thik  little  Pete  a-got  to  ?  Jump  in,  all 
the  rest  o'  ee,  while  I  do  run  an'  look," 
shrieked  Jane. 

Pete,  a  hydrocephalic  child  of  five,  was 
admittedly  backward.  Yet  he  bore  a  brow 
so  massive  that  everybody  accepted  his 
mother's  persistent  statement  that  in  the 
end  the  boy  would  prove  himself  "no  fool." 
Now,  as  Jane  ran  up  and  down  and  called 
his  name,  she  kept  saying  angrily  to  herself, 
"A  little  fool!" 

She  traversed  the  platform. 

"He  must  ha'  runned  back.  The  little 
fool ! " 

She  flew  to  the  "pobble  stones." 


346  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

There  was  only  the  empty  hamper  there. 
And  it  might  have  been  lost.  "  The  little 
fool ! "  To  think  how  angry  John  would 
have  been!     "The  little  fool!" 

She  searched  the  sands.  She  returned 
with  the  empty  hamper  but  no  Pete.  "A 
little  fool ! " 

When  she  got  back  to  the  station  the  train 
had  gone. 

Then  Jane  sat  down,  rocked  the  baby  in 
arms  and  wept. 

Presently  the  station-master  came  and  tried 
to  console  her.  He  said  that  the  child  must 
have  been  taken  along  by  friends.  No  child 
ever  got  lost.  The  same  thing  had  happened 
in  his  experience  many  a  time  before.  He 
packed  Jane  home  weeping  by  the  last  train. 

The  elder  girls  were  waiting  to  meet  her. 

"Our  poor  little  Pete "  began  Jane. 

"Pete,  mother?  Why,  he's  home  a-bed 
an'  asleep.  He  were  that  clever  he  crope 
in  the  train  all  by  his  own  self." 

Jane  brightened. 

"Ah,  I  always  said  the  dear  little  feller 
were  no  fool." 


JANE'S  SUMMER  EXCURSION  347 

Jane  was  a  happy  mother  again. 

"  What  sort  of  a  day  did  ee  have,  mother  ?  " 
asked  the  girls. 

"  Beautiful !  There  was  a  bit  of  a 
bother  wi'  the  hamper  - —  but  nothen  to 
hurt.  Lovely  !  There,  they  all  got  wet — 
but  children  will.  Conscience  sake,  sure 
'nough  !  They  be  wet  enough  at  home  here, 
into  ditch  an'  out  all  day  long.  Heavenly ! 
The  milk  turned  sour  in  the  bottles,  but 
la !  wi'  the  sky  so  hot  as  a  oven,  what  can 
anybody  expect  ?  But  your  father,  now,  is 
he  vexed  I  be  so  late  ?  " 

"  Well,  now  you  do  put  the  question, 
mother,  he  did  not  look  so  terr'ble  sweet," 
the  elder  girl  admitted. 

"  Didn'  er  speak  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  mother." 

"  That's  a  bad  sign,"  said  jane.  "  I  feared 
in  the  heart  o'  me  he'd  be  surly  because  I 
be  so  late." 

"  I  shoudn'  take  no  notice,  mother.  Don't 
gie  un  no  words  back,"  advised  the  girl. 

When  Jane  got  to  the  cottage  John  hurried 
down  the  garden  path  to  meet  her.     He  wore 


348  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

no  hat,  and  she  could  see,  even  in  the  dusk, 
his  forehead  puckered  into  a  frown. 

Jane  felt  nervous. 

"  I— I  couldn " 

With  sharp,  hasty  words  John  cut  her  short. 
Yet  it  was  only  anxiety  after  all. 

"  Have  ee  got  the  crab  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD 

You  do  not  hear  in  Sutton  the  clink !  clink ! 
clink  !  of  the  hammer  on  the  anvil  so  continu- 
ally as  was  the  case  in  former  days.  It  is  not 
that  a  village  smith  is  less  busy,  but  the  nature 
of  his  business  has  changed.  In  olden  times 
he  forced  all  his  horseshoes  and  made  the 
nails  as  well.  Now  for  the  most  part  he  buys 
the  shoes  in  pairs  by  the  dozen  and  the  nails 
by  the  gross.  Also  the  many  household  ob- 
jects in  iron  that  he  used  to  hammer  out,  the 
fire-dogs  for  the  open  hearth,  the  chimney- 
crooks  by  which  kettles  and  crocks  were  hung 
over  the  flaming  logs,  are  of  the  past.  So 
the  smithy  is  frequently  quiet.  If  you  want 
to  hear  the  hum  of  the  bellows,  to  see  the 
sparks  light  up  the  dingy  smoke-browned  old 
place  and  flakes  of  red-hot  iron  fall  off  under 

349 


35o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

his  lusty  blows,  you  must  stand  in  the  open 
doorway  when  old  John  Kipping  has  a 
horse  standing  waiting  under  the  shed  and 
is  beating  a  "bough ten"  shoe  into  a  neat 
fit. 

The  smithy  opposite  "  The  Acorn  "  has  also 
advanced  with  the  times.  The  old  shoeing 
forge  remains  as  it  was  ;  but  a  workshop  has 
been  added,  with  a  little  wooden  lean-to  at 
the  end,  which  serves  for  an  office.  The  new 
shop  not  only  has  a  forge  but  a  lathe.  It  was 
the  wildest  innovation  that  has  ever  startled 
Sutton  when  young  John  Kipping  came  home, 
added  this  building,  and,  with  his  own  hands, 
in  letters  of  red  paint  along  the  whole  length 
of  the  boards,  announced  the  nature  of  his 
enterprise  with  a  courage  far  in  advance  of 
his  orthography  : — 

REPARES,    BIKES    TIRES    SPOKES    OR    OTHER 
WAYS    AND    TO    HIRE    OR    EXCHANGE. 

All  this  happened  more  than  ten  years  ago, 
but  the  legend,  although  now  rusty,  still  re- 
mains. It  has,  however,  been  supplemented 
by  a  large  board  over  the  door,  conveying 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD         351 

much  further  information  and  concluding : 
"  Motor  cars  a  speciality  and  petrol  supplied." 
This  board,  havino-  been  designed  and 
painted  under  the  eye  of  Heppell,  combines 
the  correctness  of  a  gravestone  with  the  neat- 
ness of  an  alehouse  sign.  It  marks  the  ulti- 
mate triumph  of  young  John  Kipping,  who, 
in  spite  of  paternal  opposition,  often  enforced 
by  blows,  set  his  face  against  the  shoeing, 
determined  to  leave  Sutton,  got  a  place  in  a 
workshop,  and  spent  some  years  as  a  journey- 
man in  a  large  Midland  town.  Very  rarely 
does  a  country  lad  who  seeks  the  town  return 
more  fully  prepared  to  fill  a  useful  place  in 
the  life  of  the  village.  John  Kipping,  the 
younger,  is  known  for  miles  around  for  his 
cleverness  with  agricultural  implements.  In 
the  winter  his  yard  is  full  of  "  repares."  In 
the  summer  and  autumn  he  is  here  and  there 
in  the  hay  and  harvest  fields  "  pomstering  " 
at  one  machine  or  the  other.  He  is  now 
past  forty  and  has  saved  money.  He  is  the 
personal  friend  of  Heppell.  But  then,  as  Mrs. 
Josiah  Heppell  has  repeatedly  told  me,  "  from 
the  very  first  Heppell  have  always  a-throvved 


352  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

everything  he  could  in  the  way  o'  John  Kip- 
ping." 

It  is  perhaps  only  natural  that  old  John 
Kipping,  in  his  pride  at  the  success  of  "my 
son  John,"  should  have  forgotten  the  past. 
His  imagination  has  gradually  replaced  it 
with  a  latter-day  dream  which  bears  no  relation 
whatever  to  the  facts. 

John  is  described  in  the  neighbourhood  as 
"a  bunchy  little  curdly-headed  fellar,  once 
so  black  as  a  crow,  though  o'  late  years  he 
do  blossomy  most  terr'ble  about  the  head  o' 
un."  This  is  a  poetic  way  of  stating  that  old 
John's  hair  is  now  as  white  as  a  hawthorn 
bush  in  full  flower.  In  spite  of  his  short 
stature  he  is  hard  and  tough  as  an  oak  post. 
Although  hot-tempered,  as  curly-headed  men 
are  apt  to  be,  John  is  considered  excellent 
company.  Formerly  he  spent  many  a  jovial 
hour  at  "The  Acorn,"  but  now  he  scarcely 
ever  slips  across  the  road.  He  is  afraid  of 
young  John,  or,  rather,  of  young  John's  wife, 
whose  eye  is  always  upon  him.  But  between 
times  at  his  forge  door,  or  in  the  shed  in  his 
leathern   apron,    with    a    horse's    hind    hoof 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD         353 

resting  against  his  knee,  he  will  talk  as 
merrily  as  ever. 

"  A  man  mus'  keep  up  wi'  the  times  or — 
drop  behind.  That's  what  I  saw  wi'  my  son 
John.  '  John/  said  I,  '  there  is  more  things  in 
this  world  than  the  eye  can  see  in  Sutton. 
There  is  men,  though  you  may  not  think  it, 
can  show  you  more  than  your  father  do  know.' 
I  would  have  it  so.  I  send  the  lad  away.  I 
said,  '  My  boy,  you'll  thank  your  father  in 
years  to  come.'  He  had  to  go.  But  so  it 
proved." 

Then,  with  his  long  tongs,  he  will  hold  the 
shoe  in  the  glowing  heat  until  a  thin  trans- 
parent  flame  clings  to  it  as  he  turns  again  to 
the  anvil. 

"  But  la !  you  know,  'tis  all  the  system. 
My  son  John,  now,  he've  a-got  such  a  system. 
You  wouldn'  think  it,  but  in  thik  little  office 
there  he  do  keep  the  books  o'  all  the  great 
makers  o'  machines.  He've  a-got  their  lists. 
He's  agent  to  some.  They  do  all  know  my 
son  John  by  letter.  'Tis  jus'  the  like  o'  this. 
Now,  say  your  reaper  is  a-brokt,  you  do  send 
to  my  son  John  to  come  up  in  ground  to  once. 
23 


354  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

When  he  do  see  what  'tis,  what  do  he  do  ? 
Do  he  bide  about  ?  Not  he.  Up  'pon  bike, 
in  to  town,  wire  off  for  the  part  by  number, 
send  by  post  if  small,  next  train  if  too 
weighty  like — why,  carter's  on  to  work  again 
next  day  where  others  would  bide  about  a 
wick.  'Tis  the  system,  you  know — the 
system." 

Old  John  himself  is  not  an  important  wheel 
in  the  machinery  of  the  system.  He  is  merely 
a  little  outside  fitting.  His  tongue  makes  a 
rattle  and  that  is  all.  Any  Sutton  person 
calling  about  a  job  and  finding  the  office  closed 
would  go  straight  to  the  house  and  talk  to 
young  John's  wife. 

Young  John's  wife  is  a  woman  of  business 
if  you  like.  Everything  that  she  has  the 
handling  of  is  as  neat  and  clean  as  a  basket 
of  clothes  new  washed  and  ironed.  Her  con- 
science compels  her  like  a  slave-driver.  Her 
sense  of  duty  can  discover  a  failing  in  herself  or 
an  impropriety  on  the  part  of  another  as  cer- 
tainly as  a  terrier  can  find  a  rabbit  or  a  rat. 
Then,  merely  to  call  attention  to  it,  she  gives 
tongue.      Her  house  is  as  tidy  as  a  fresh-laid 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD         355 

egg,  with  everything  as  "  orderly  in  place  " 
as  the  petals  of  the  dahlias  which  flower  in 
autumn  on  the  narrow  strip  between  her  front 
door  and  the  street.  The  one  toddling  child 
clinging  to  her  skirt  is  a  cherub. 

Yet  Kitty  Rudd  was  never  a  beauty. 
Judged  by  the  high  standard  of  Sutton,  which 
considers  beauty  as  quite  exceptional  and  ad- 
mires the  well-nourished  and  sleek,  she  was 
classed  as  "very  ordinary"  and  sometimes 
spoken  of  as  "hungry-looking."  She  did  not 
marry  young.  John  Kipping  was  forty  and 
she  a  suitable  mate. 

Their  courtship  was  an  idyll. 

Of  a  summer  noonday  he  went  into  his 
office  to  "  figgur  summat  out."  His  arith- 
metic was  not  better  than  his  spelling  and  the 
task  demanded  isolation,  so,  in  spite  of  the 
heat,  he  shut  the  door. 

He  inherited  the  curly  black  hair  of  his 
father  but  none  of  his  levity  of  disposition. 
He  never  went  to  "  The  Acorn."  He  was  no 
company,  for  he  could  not  often  fathom  the 
depths  of  a  joke,  and  somebody  else  had  to 
make  it.    But  he  did  not  dislike  figures.    They 


356  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

always  worked  out  clear  in  the  end.  So  he  set 
his  elbow  on  the  high  desk,  rested  his  head  on 
his  fist,  frowned  on  a  sheet  of  creased  paper, 
alternately  sucked  the  point  of  a  huge  car- 
penter's pencil  and  scrawled  strange  signs. 

There  came  a  rap  on  the  door. 
Come  in. 

Kitty  Rudd  stood  in  the  doorway. 

Her  hair  is  black  as  his,  but  it  was  covered 
with  a  pink  sunbonnet.  Her  thin  face  with 
the  hook  nose  and  sharp  chin  is  of  a  sallow 
complexion,  the  yellow  colour  of  the  limb 
of  an  oak  tree,  fresh  ripped,  before  it  takes 
the  air. 

"  Here,  I  say,  this  is  a  fine  hod-ma-dod 
of  a  ramshackle  old  reaper  an'  binder  you've 
a-send  up  to  our  place,"  cried  she. 

<(  How's  that,  then?" 

"  He  won't  work." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Well,  can  soon  make  un 
work." 

Kitty  Rudd  climbed  down  a  little  from  her 
high  and  mighty  position  and  spoke  in  a  lower 
voice. 

"All    rioht,    then.       Come    on     to    once. 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD         357 

Wasting  so  much  time !  The  wheat's  full 
ripe  as  'tis.  Do  want  to  finish  it  up  afore 
dark — if  can  !  " 

"Very  well,  then.      I'll  be  on  in  a  minute." 

"  In  a  blue  moon." 

"  No — in  half  a  jiffy.  I've  jus'  got  to  do 
this." 

"  I'll  wait,"  said  Kitty  Rudd  with  determina- 
tion and  stepped  inside.  ' '  Father  said,  '  I  f  you 
do  find  un,  mind  to  bring  un  on.'  An'  so  I 
shall." 

John  frowned  and  sucked  his  pencil  with 
no  result. 

"What  be 'bout?" 

"  I  can't  summy  when  anybody  do  look  on," 
cried  he  impatiently. 

"  I  can." 

"  I  dare  say.  I  were  foaled  a  year  too  soon 
for  schoolen  by  law." 

"  I  werden,"  replied  Kitty. 

"  Anybody  can  see  that,"  grinned  John. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  John  Kipping,"  cried  she 
snappishly.  "  Let's  see  what  'tis.  Wipe  off 
the  pencil  an'  gie  un  here.  Massy  'pon  us ! 
What  figgers  too  !     I  should  hoe  out  any  little 


358  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

sum  in  time  to  come  'pon  a  twenty-acre  groun' 
if  I  was  you." 

John  rubbed  the  pencil  on  his  blue  work- 
man's jacket  until  every  suspicion  of  juicy 
succulence  was  removed. 

"  I  do  allow  you'd  ha'  swallered  un  by  now 
if  I  hadn'  a-comed  in,"  laughed  she.  "  Now 
then  ! " 

John  propounded  his  problem. 

Kitty  Rudd  pulled  off  her  sunbonnet,  bent 
over  the  desk,  and  figured  quick.  Beads  of 
perspiration  from  her  hurried  walk  glistened 
on  her  forehead  and  a  lock  of  black  hair  by 
the  side  of  her  ear  quivered  in  the  cool 
draught. 

"  How  nimble-minded  you  be,  Kitty  Rudd." 

"  Why,  'tis  easy  as  pap,"  said  she.  "  There ! 
That's  what  'tis.  Do  ee  see  ?  Put  it  down 
somewhere — not  to  forget  like." 

John  lifted  the  cover  of  the  desk  and  put 
away  the  paper. 

"When  I've  a-done  wi'  it  I'll  have  it  framed 
for  a  keepsake,"  said  he. 

"  Then  mind  you  do,"  laughed  Kitty  and 
put  on  her  sunbonnet.    She  hesitated.    Then 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD         359 

made  as  if  to  go.  "  So  I'll  tell  'em  you'll  be 
on  now  to  once." 

"Why  be  off  so  quick,  then?  'Tis  but  to 
get  a  couple  o'  wrenches  an'  clap  a  nut  and  a 
bolt  or  so  in  my  pocket,  an'  I'll  walk  on  in 
your  company." 

"Oh!  Just  as  you  be  a-minded,"  replied 
Kitty  Rudd  carelessly  and  stepped  into  the 
open  air  and  waited. 

The  Rudd  homestead  is  but  a  few  fields 
away,  lying  at  the  back  of  Sutton  smithy,  and, 
by  the  footpath,  may  be  reached  by  a  walk 
of  no  more  than  ten  minutes.  The  holding 
is  a  small  dairy-farm  of  about  sixty  acres  of 
grass,  one  large  plough-ground,  and  two 
smaller  ones.  The  large  piece  of  arable  was 
half  in  wheat  and  half  in  mangolds  that 
summer,  with  some  dozen  rows  of  potatoes 
stretching  across  the  field  between  the 
other  crops.  The  wheat  was  full  ripe,  as 
Kitty  had  said.  The  ears  were  ruddy  and 
hung  low.  The  berries,  which  should  be  moist 
at  the  reaping,  were  hard  and  dry.  Goodman 
Rudd  was  something  of  an  "afternoon  farmer," 
as  folk  said,  but  by  the  time  the  afternoon  drew 


360  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

near  he  became  liable  to  excitement.  He  was 
in  shirt-sleeves,  with  a  broad-brimmed  straw 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  head.  Mrs.  Rudd,  a  tall, 
muscular  woman  of  more  than  threescore,  also 
in  a  sunbonnet,  and  all  the  Rudd  family  had 
gathered  around  the  refractory  machine. 

"  This  here  reaper  o'  yours  is  no  good," 
cried  the  farmer,  very  red  in  the  face.  "He's 
wore  out." 

John  Kipping's  nearest  approach  to  a  joke 
is  to  speak  the  naked  brutal  truth. 

"  So'll  you  be  too — pretty  quick — if  you  do 
have  the  luck." 

Farmer  Rudd  became  silent.  John  Kipping 
pushed  aside  a  Rudd  boy  who  was  stooping 
down  to  peer  into  the  machine. 

"  Lead  on  a  step  or  two.  Stop.  That'll 
do." 

Then  quickly  followed  a  hammering  and  a 
wrenching  and  a  screwing  which  the  boy 
watched  with  open-mouthed  eagerness. 

"  Now  go  on  again.  Stop  a  minute.  Now 
then.  What's  the  matter  wi'  that,  then  ? 
That's  all  right." 

Farmer  Rudd  was  delighted. 


HARVESTING 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 
WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


ti 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD         361 

"  Hop  up,"  he  shouted  to  the  boy. 

John  Kipping  gave  the  boy  a  leg-up  on  to 
the  fore  horse,  whilst  the  farmer  seized  the 
reins  and  clambered  into  the  seat. 

"  Gee-uppa! " 

The  horses  went  nodding  along.  The 
reaper  clattered.  The  dummy  rakes  rose  and 
fell  like  the  arms  of  a  windmill.  The  tall 
wheat  bent  and  was  cut  off,  gathered,  bound 
into  sheaves,  and  dropped  on  the  carpet  of 
field-mint,  bindweed  and  new-made  stubble. 

"Capical!"  cried  the  farmer  as  he  came 
round  again. 

"  I'll  stop  a  bit  an'  see  how  he  do  go  on," 
shouted  John. 

"  One  o'  ee  run  in  and  bring  out  a  jar  o' 
ale,"  whispered  the  mother  to  one  of  the  boys. 

"  If  you  do  stop  you  can  stooky,"  said  Kitty 
to  John  with  a  toss  of  the  head. 

So  it  fell  out  that  John  stopped  to  stooky 
with  Kitty — that  is  to  say,  they  picked  up 
sheaves  behind  the  reaper  and  set  them  up 
into  a  stook  of  ten  sheaves.  But  the  stookers 
were  many  and  close  on  the  heels  of  the 
machine,    so   there  was  leisure    even    to  sit 


362  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

down  on  a  sheaf  in  the  shade  of  a  stook  and 
wait. 

A  rabbit  popped  out  of  the  standing  wheat 
and  all  the  Rudds  ran  whooping  and  yelling 
to  the  other  end  of  the  field.  For  full  half  an 
hour  everybody  forgot  Kitty  and  John  until 
they  came  forward  and  stood  side  by  side 
watching  the  reaper  clatter  down  one  lap. 

"  Everything's  all  right.  I  mid  so  well 
get  on  now,"  said  John,  with  a  brisker  air  of 
business  than  usual. 

"  Do  look  as  if  you  wouldn'  be  wanted  no 
more,  certain  sure,"  remarked  Kitty  gravely. 

John  clapped  his  wrenches  and  hammer  into 
his  pocket,  called  out  "Good-day, all,"  and, as  if 
he  had  already  loitered  too  long  to  the  neglect 
of  some  other  errand,  hurried  homeward. 

Kitty  seized  sheaves  and  with  feverish 
haste  went  on  with  her  stooking. 

It  was  dusk  by  the  time  all  the  wheat  was 
down  and  the  farmer  drove  away  the  reaper 
and  the  stookers  quietly  took  their  way  to  the 
homestead. 

Kitty  dropped  behind  and  walked  with  her 
mother. 


THE  SMITHY  AND  THE  FIELD  363 

"That  John  Kipping  must  be  doing  well, 
I  warrant  it,"  said  Mrs.  Rudd. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  responded  Kitty. 

"  Such  a  lot  o'  work,"  reflected  Mrs.  Rudd. 

"  So  do  seem,"  replied  Kitty. 

"  He  must  save  money,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Rudd. 

"  Maybe  he  do,"  agreed  Kitty. 

"  He'd  make  a  good  man  now  to  some 
sensible  ooman,"  added  Mrs.  Rudd  with 
conviction. 

"  Maybe  he  would,"  consented  Kitty. 

They  walked  in  silence  over  the  crackling 
stubble,  until  Mrs.  Rudd  stopped  to  bring  to 
the  open  gate  through  which  the  reaper  had 
just  passed.  It  was  half  off  its  hinges  and 
had  to  be  lifted  back.  Yet  Kitty  did  not 
lend  a  hand.  The  fields  were  almost  dark, 
that  is  to  say  with  the  half-darkness  of  a 
summer's  ni^ht. 

"Mother!" 

"What  is  it,  chile?" 

"John  Kipping  put  I  a  question  there,  as 
we  sot  under  the  stook." 

"  An'  what  did  ee  say  to  un,  chile  ?  " 


364 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 


"  Mother ! " 

"What  is  it,  Kitty?" 

"  I  took  un,  mother." 

They  walked  on  again  on  the  quiet  grass  for 
a  good  ten  paces  before  Mrs.  Rudd  spoke. 

"  Kitty,  my  dear,"  said  she  in  a  low  quiet 
voice  and  paused — "you  done  right !  " 


CHAPTER   XXX 
THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT 

The  ingenious  device  of  Mr.  William  Purchase 
to  force  old  Jakey  to  give  up  the  cottage  by 
raising  his  rent  brought  about  the  most  un- 
expected  results. 

When  Saturday  came  so  did  the  half- 
crown. 

Letty  Purchase  received  it,  entered  it,  re- 
turned the  book,  and  placed  the  coin  on  the 
dining-room  mantelpiece  to  await  her  father's 
return. 

"What's  this? "  asked  Mr.  William  Purchase, 
whose  respect  for  property  suffers  annoyance 
should  he  happen  to  find  money  lying  about. 

"  Jakey 's  rent,  father.  But  did  you  really 
raise  it  to  half  a  crown  ?  " 

William  Purchase  dotes  on  his  one  girl,  and 

more  than  ever  now  that  he  is  so  soon   to 

365 


366  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

lose  her.  He  was  aware  of  not  only  surprise 
but  a  spirit  of  gentle  remonstrance  in  the 
question. 

"What?  Jakey'srent?  He's  never  sent 
up  the  half-crown,  has  he  ?  " 

"  1  thought  there  was  some  mistake,"  said 
Letty. 

"  It's  not  exactly  a  mistake.  I  thought  he 
couldn't  send  it." 

"  But  the  cottage  is  not  worth  it,  father?" 

"  Certainly  not,  my  child.  He  has  got  the 
notion,  so  I  hear,  that  he  cannot  be  moved 
unless  he  gets  behind.  I  thought  he  could 
not  pay  it,  that  was  all." 

"  He'll  starve,"  said  Letty. 

"  But  he  won't  go  out.  The  place  is  not 
habitable,  yet  he  will  not  go  out.  I  merely 
want  him  to  go  out."  Then,  seeing  the  con- 
cern on  his  daughter's  face,  he  added  affection- 
ately,  "  Make  a  note,  my  dear,  of  how  many 
he  pays.  Then  in  a  week  or  so  I'll  tell  him 
that  he  can  have  the  lot  back  the  day  he 
vacates.  That'll  dangle  a  bait  before  him. 
Perhaps  that'll  hurry  him.  Perhaps  that'll 
tempt  him." 


THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT  367 

Thus  the  matter  lapsed  again  and  Jakey 
remained  victorious. 

From  the  day  of  that  conversation  in  the 
lane,  the  poor  cripple  resumed  his  ordinary 
course  of  life  and  was  seen  openly  picking 
weeds  on  the  high  road.  If  anything,  the 
parish  found  him  in  better  spirits  and  more 
communicative  than  he  had  been  before  his 
trouble  arose.  He  gave  Carter  Peters  to 
understand  that,  taking  into  consideration 
the  advantage  of  a  house  having  no  stairs, 
his  landlord  had  consented  to  a  continuation 
of  the  tenancy  at  the  advanced  rent  of  half  a 
crown.  He  told  Isaac  Jeans  that  he  should 
expect  to  have  a  few  shillings  laid  out  upon  the 
place  now  that  he  was  to  pay  more  money,  and 
Isaac  Jeans  agreed  that  was  "nothing  but 
right."  He  touched  his  hat  to  his  passing 
landlord  with  such  readiness  that  Mr.  William 
Purchase  smiled  and  said  to  himself  that  the 
raising-  the  rent  was  after  all  an  idea  of  the 
very  best  quality,  and  in  a  very  short  time 
would  bring  the  old  chap  round. 

Thus  time  drifted  along  for  some  weeks,  but 
the  half-crown  was  always  forthcoming.     The 


368  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

harvest  engrossed  all  the  thoughts  of  Mr. 
William  Purchase,  but  at  last  of  a  Saturday 
afternoon  he  declared  his  emphatic  determina- 
tion. "  Remind  me,  Letty.  I  really  will  walk 
up  and  talk  to  that  chap  to-morrow." 

To-morrow  was  Sunday. 

How  sweetly  the  sun  shone  on  Church- 
warden Purchase  as,  in  the  glossy  silk  hat 
which  he  abominated,  yet  into  which  he  would 
whisper  a  prayer  before  taking  his  seat,  and 
in  clothes  a  little  too  warm  for  the  season,  he 
walked  along  the  paved  path  between  the 
gravestones,  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Purchase 
in  furbelows  and  an  atmosphere  of  eau-de- 
cologne,  followed  by  Letty  in  summer  white, 
a  broad  straw  hat  on  her  head,  and  a  bunch  of 
red  roses  at  her  bosom,  accompanied  by  Dr. 
Willoughby  in  professional  frock  coat,  with  the 
two  boys  demurely  behind  ! 

The  Purchase  household  when  in  full  force 
was  wont  to  proceed  in  this  orderly  manner. 
At  five  minutes  to  the  hour,  in  the  hall  of 
the  Manor  House,  Churchwarden  Purchase, 
in  tones  of  a  trumpet,  would  shout  up  the 
staircase — 


THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT  369 

"  Now  then.  Church.  Time's  up.  Come 
along — come  along.     Church.     Church." 

Then  everybody  bustled  down  and  the  pro- 
cession was  invariable.  It  broke  up  in  the 
porch.  The  elder  persons  passed  in  single 
file  to  the  square  pew.  The  "  couple  o'  young 
cautions "  went  into  the  tower  to  put  on 
surplices  and  take  their  places  in  the  village 
choir.  They  had  no  knowledge  of  music, 
their  voices  were  sadly  unstable,  and  the  elder 
boy  was  deficient  in  ear  ;  nevertheless,  it  was 
recognised  as  nice  of  them  to  set  an  example 
and  do  what  they  could  to  support  the  music 
of  the  church.  The  old  rector  when  he  met 
them  never  neglected  to  warmly  thank  them 
for  their  aid. 

How  restful  was  the  church  on  that  autumn 
Sunday  morning,  when  the  earth  itself  was 
beginning  to  cease  from  labour.  Birds  were 
silent.  Lambs  no  longer  bleated  to  the  ewes 
but  fed  in  peace.  All  the  landscape  had  be- 
come mute  and  not  a  sound  came  through  the 
open  door,  whilst  a  sermon  of  inordinate 
length,  as  Mr.    William    Purchase    thought, 

moved  monotonously  on.     "  By  the  bye,    I 

24 


37o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

mustn't  forget  old  Jakey,"  said  he  within 
himself.  He  felt  drowsy.  "  Towards  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  after  a  cup  of  tea."  He 
dozed.  Explanation,  exhortation,  recapit- 
ulation, all  followed  one  another,  "and 
now " 


At  the  words  Churchwarden  Purchase 
awoke  greatly  refreshed  and  sat  up.  He 
joined  in  the  last  hymn  and  recovered  his 
silk  hat  from  under  the  seat  before  raising  his 
head  from  the  benediction.  Yet  he  remained 
in  the  church  until  all  the  congregation  had 
departed,  in  order  to  have  a  word  with  the 
rector  as  to  the  most  convenient  date  to 
choose  for  Thanksgiving. 

The  deliberation  was  long.  The  church 
door  was  locked,  the  sexton  had  gone  home, 
and  they  had  reached  the  shade  of  the  old 
yew  tree  before  the  question  was  finally 
settled.  Suddenly  the  parson  bethought 
himself — 

"  Oh  yes,  I  wanted  a  word  with  you  about 
Barton " 

"  He  is  giving  me  trouble,"  interrupted  Mr. 
William  Purchase. 


THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT  371 

"  I  know.  I  know."  The  old  rector 
almost  whispered  his  sympathy.  "  But  I 
fear  misrepresentation  is  at  work." 

"  Misrepresentation  !  "  fired  off  Mr.  William 
Purchase. 

"Well,  eh — a  friend  of  mine — of  our  own 
party,  you  may  be  sure — asked  me  to  see 
you " 

"  Speak  out,  sir.      I  shall  thank  you." 

"  They  are  hoping  to  make  capital — politi- 
cal capital — out  of  your  cottage.  One  of  these 
atheistic,  socialistic,  radical  fellows  has  been 
speaking " 

"A  rascal!"  interjected  Mr.  William  Pur- 
chase. 

"  Unscrupulous,  I  fear,"  said  the  old  rector, 
with  a  pained  expression  and  raising  both 
hands.  "  He  did  not  mention  you  by 
name " 

"Ha!" 

"  But  you  know  the  usual  thing — an  opulent 
gentleman-farmer " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  Mr.  William  Purchase  could 
not  contain  his  impatience. 

"  Not  six  miles  from  the  town  of " 


372  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  To  be  sure.     To  be  sure." 

"  Who  reported  a  cottage  to  the  author- 
ity 

Mr.  William  Purchase  stamped  his  foot 
with  anger. 

"And  they  can  give  that  colour  to  it,  I 
admit,"  he  cried  in  a  fury  of  candour. 

"  But  they  say  worse,"  moaned  the  poor  old 
rector  and  almost  shed  tears  over  the  malice 
of  mankind.  "  They  say  that,  without  spend- 
ing a  penny,  you  have  more  than  doubled  the 
rent." 

Mr.  William  Purchase  paced  up  and  down 
under  the  ancient  yew.  He  expended  on 
that  half-witted  fool  of  a  cripple,  who  ought 
to  have  spent  his  whole  life  in  the  workhouse, 
some  of  the  richest  adjectives  that  any  church- 
warden in  a  glossy  hat,  in  the  company  of  his 
rector  and  under  shadow  of  the  church,  dare 
utter.  Then,  very  red  in  the  face,  he  calmed 
himself  to  explain  exactly  how  and  why  the 
thing  had  happened. 

Deeply  moved,  the  dear  old  rector  offered 
consolation. 

"  I  see — I  know — 1  realise  your  difficulty. 


THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT  373 

I    fear   the    report    will    be    in    next   week's 
paper " 

"That's  the  devil  of — I  mean  the  serious 
side  of  it,"  cried  Mr.  William  Purchase. 

"  It  is,"  agreed  the  rector  gravely.  "  It 
gives  a  handle,  I  fear,  to  the  party  wire-pullers. 
A  man  of  sound  views  cannot  be  too  careful, 
Mr.  Purchase.  What  had  you  better  do,  I 
wonder." 

"  I'll  go  this  minute — well,  well — to-morrow, 
first  thing — carry  it  back  and — eh — and  close 
the  matter  forthwith." 

"That  will  be  the  wisest  way,"  said  the 
rector  soothingly. 

It  was  a  capital  sirloin  of  his  own  grazing, 
but  Mr.  William  Purchase  took  no  interest  in 
his  Sunday  beef.  However,  during  the  after- 
noon, with  a  pipe  under  the  drooping  ash,  he 
reflected  that  it  was  no  good  to  be  angry  with 
old  Jakey.  The  better  way  would  be  to  speak 
clearly,  kindly  but  firmly — very  firmly. 

Fearing  the  last  notice  might  have  become 
vitiated  by  the  changing  of  the  rent  to  half  a 
crown,  he  wrote  another  formal  notice  to  quit, 
and  on  the  following  morning,  to  prevent  all 


374  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

further  misunderstanding,  carried  it  himself  to 
the  cottage  with  the  rent  just  received  and  the 
book. 

Jakey  Barton  made  no  pretence  on  this 
occasion  of  being  from  home.  In  response  to 
the  first  knock  he  opened  the  door  and  even 
wished  his  landlord  "  Good-morning." 

"  Good-morning,"  replied  Mr.  William  Pur- 
chase shortly  and  took  the  precaution  to  step 
inside. 

"  I  have  brought  back  the  rent,  Barton," 
said  he,  placing  the  coin  on  the  table  and 
speaking  in  short,  decided  sentences.  "  And 
— your  book.     And — another  notice." 

"I've  a-lived  here  forty  year "  began  old 

"  Man  an'  man,"  but  Mr.  William  Purchase 
calmly  continued — 

"  I  shall  take  no  more  money  from 
you " 

"I've  a-paid  as  'tis  more  for  the  place  in 
rent  than  you  by  purchase." 

"Hush!  Listen  to  me.  If  you  remain 
after  next  week  I  shall  go  to  the  judge.  In 
due  time  the  bailiff  will  turn  you  out  into  the 
road  and  obtain  possession.      Is  that  clear?" 


THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT  375 

"  I  be  content  as  'tis,"  said  old  "  Man  an' 
man." 

"That  may  be,  my  good  fellow.  But  the 
place  has  to  be  pulled  down." 

"  I've  always  a-paid." 

"  But  no  more,  Barton.  If  I  take  rent  I 
appear  to  ignore  the  law.  I  am  sorry  for  you. 
If  I  had  a  place  you  should  have  it.  But  if 
you  break  the  law,  I  must  not.  There's  your 
notice.     And  no  more  rent." 

"Very  well,  then — as  you  don't  wish  it," 
replied  Jakey  with  resignation. 

Mr.  William  Purchase  went  away  to  his 
harvest-field,  contented  that  he  had  not  only 
been  clear  but  clearly  understood,  and  so  for 
a  few  days  the  matter  rested. 

On  the  evening  before  the  expiration  of  the 
notice  Sutton  people  observed  that  the  lean- 
to  shed  was  gone.  The  three  posts  and  the 
two  sheets  of  corrugated  iron  had  disappeared, 
and  the  cart  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Al- 
though it  did  seem  strange  that  nobody  had 
heard  where  he  intended  going,  old  "  Man  an' 
man  "  was  evidently  preparing  to  flit.  But 
on  the  Sunday  a  film  of  blue  smoke  was  still 


376  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

rising  from  the  chimney,  although  throughout 
the  day  the  door  was  kept  locked. 

Early  Monday  morning,  on  his  way  to 
work,  young  John  Brook  was  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  an  interview  with  Jakey  on 
the  road. 

A  week  of  silent  meditation  had  incubated 
a  strange  whim  in  the  old  man's  mind. 

He  told  John  Brook  that  Mr.  William 
Purchase  had  been  most  thoughtful  and  kind. 
That  the  house  had  been  inside  the  law,  sure 
enough  ;  but  if  no  rent  was  paid,  that  would 
put  the  house  outside  the  law.  Therefore  he 
was  allowed  to  stay  rent-free. 

Young  John  Brook  carried  this  problem  into 
the  harvest-field,  where  it  was  learnedly  dis- 
cussed around  the  waggon  during  the  hauling 
of  the  wheat. 

"  I  don't  say  but  what  he's  right,"  argued 
Shepherd  Jeans  as  he  thrust  his  fork  into  a 
sheaf.  "  No  rent — no  rates.  No  rates — no 
property.      No  property — no  law." 

"  I  don't  see  that  about  no  property. 
The  house  'ud  stop  there,  I  do  suppose. 
'Ithout    you     do     think    he'll    take    wing," 


THAT  RISE  IN  THE  RENT  377 

cried  John  Peters  from  the  top  of  the 
load. 

"That's  nonsense  talk,"  cried  Shepherd 
Jeans.     "  I  do  mean  property  'pon  the  book." 

"Book  or  no  book,  he  can't  bide.  I'll 
warrant  it." 

"  I  don't  say  that !  " 

"I'd  lay  a  guinea  he's  out  afore  Michael- 
mas." 

But  young  John  Brook  was  recognised  to 
be  talking  more  sense,  when,  with  a  sheaf  in 
the  air,  he  offered  to  bet  any  man  the  price  of 
a  quart  that  Jakey  Barton  would  be  there  at 
Christmas  unless  he  should  go  of  his  own 
free  mind. 

The  newspaper  report  amounted  to  nothing 
after  all.  It  merely  brought  forth  an  explana- 
tion, and  sound  views  triumphed  forthwith. 

Twenty  times  a  day  Mr.  William  Purchase 
swore  that  he  really  must  go  into  the  town  and 
set  the  law  in  motion.  He  argued  that  a  man 
of  property,  who  has  threatened  yet  allows 
himself  to  be  defied  without  taking  action, 
stultifies  himself.  Yet  he  stayed  at  home  and 
looked  after  his  harvest  after  all. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  HARVEST  SUPPER 

It  was  Miss  Letty's  very  own  idea  "an'  her 
most  partic'lar  wish,"  so  gossip  said,  that  her 
father  should  this  year  give  a  harvest  supper. 
If  Miss  Letty  could  have  had  her  way,  we 
should  have  seen  a  real  old-fashioned  Harvest- 
Home  with  a  Harvest  Queen  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  A  sprinkling  of  old  folk  still  living  in 
Sutton  can  remember  before  that  ancient 
festivity  went  out.  Enthroned  on  sheaves, 
the  old  Betsy  Mogridge,  when  a  slip  of  a 
girl,  enjoyed  this  brief  sovereignty,  of  which 
the  details  remain  in  her  mind  fresher  than 
yesterday.  She  could  tell  exactly  how  it  was 
carried  out. 

Miss  Letty,  provided  with  a  packet  of  tea, 
visited  the  old  soul  at  about  the  hour  of  the 

afternoon  when  the  kettle  is  put  to  boil.     On 

378 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  379 

the  ground  that  she  was  the  first  to  predict  the 
event,  old  Betsy  takes  to  herself  full  credit 
for  Miss  Letty's  engagement.  She  care- 
fully dusted  with  her  apron  the  seat  of  a 
shining  birchwood  chair  already  scrupulously 
clean. 

"An'  will  ee  please  to  sit  yourself  down, 
Miss  Letty,"  curtsied  she. 

Miss  Letty  sat  down  by  the  open  window. 
It  was  a  hot  September  day.  The  dimity 
curtains,  suspended  by  a  narrow  tape  held  by  a 
pair  of  brass-headed  nails,  fluttered  in  a  gentle 
breeze,  which  brought  the  intermittent  sound 
of  Mr.  Peter  Badgery's  firing,  as  he  strode 
across  some  distant  newly  cut  stubble  or 
walked  up  the  roots.  But  the  cottage  was 
cool  as  a  grot.  Fresh  scrubbed  out  by  the 
little  Rosie  Ann  on  that  very  morning,  "  really 
as  mid  sim  as  if  a-purpose  for  company,"  the 
well-worn  stones  of  the  paved  floor  were  as 
free  from  stain  as  the  rows  of  plates  upon  the 
dresser  and  the  cups  and  jugs  hanging  from 
its  shelves. 

"  Yours  really  is  the  prettiest  cottage  in 
Sutton,  Betsy." 


380  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"La!  Miss  Letty,  he's  all  doors  an' 
draughts." 

"  Never  mind  about  that,  Betsy.  You 
always  keep  it  nice." 

"  La !  Miss  Letty,  the  chimbley  do  that 
smoke  an5  smut,  I  be  boun'  to  ope  the  doors 
to  let  out  the  smeech." 

To  be  sure  old  Betsy's  kitchen  has  an 
abundance  of  doors.  There  is  the  front  door, 
the  back  door,  the  staircase  door,  and  the  door 
of  the  cupboard  under  the  stairs.  It  has  also 
two  windows,  and  now  and  then  from  Sutton 
Street  the  eye  may  glance  right  through  the 
house  and  catch  sight  of  the  apple  tree  in  the 
garden  behind.  But  throughout  the  summer 
old  Betsy's  windows  are  blinded  with  flowers 
and  her  pelargoniums  are  the  wonder  of  all 
who  pass. 

"Then  the  more  credit  to  you,  Betsy." 

"  La !  Miss  Letty,  I  be  but  a  old  body  a- 
most  past  work." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Betsy.  Your  flowers  are 
the  best  in  the  parish." 

"  La  !  Miss  Letty,  there — maybe  just  to 
this  moment  they  be  better  'an  they  was." 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  381 

"  Not  at  all,  Betsy.  And  I  always 
admire  the  brass,  and  the  china,  and  the 
cupboard." 

"  La  !  Miss  Letty,  there  !  It  don't  shine 
like  did — not  like  did." 

"  Now  don't  you  say  that,  Betsy.  When 
there's  not  a  speck  to  be  seen." 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation,  which  in 
politeness  had  equalled,  and  in  sincerity  was 
superior  to,  much  that  may  be  heard  in  a 
drawing-room,  old  Betsy  always  rose  from  her 
rush-bottomed  chair  by  the  side  of  the  little 
kitchen  range  now  built  into  the  old  hearth, 
and  took  her  treasures  one  by  one  from  the 
mantelpiece  and  the  dresser. 

"  Ah  !  There's  the  old  dumplen  ladle.  I 
ha'n't  a-used  un  for  years,  an'  a  thing  out  o' 
use  do  get  looked  over.  Mother  did  use  un 
most  days  when  I  were  a  chile.  But  la  !  Miss 
Letty.  Gentlefolk  without  number  have  a- 
offered  money  for  he.  There !  I  didn'  part. 
An'  the  snuffers  now — I've  a-been  offered 
money  for  they.  But  I  didn'  part.  So  I 
have  for  the  little  chainey  house,  an'  the  dog, 
an'  the  jug  wi'  the  name  'pon  un — many  have 


382  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

a-coveted  they.  But  I  never  didn'  part  an' 
never  shan't.  They  do  please  I  wi'  thoughts 
o'  folk  long  agone.  They  was  all  in  mother's 
house.  Still  they  be  wo'th  money,  mind. 
Money." 

The  old  soul  shook  her  head.  There  was 
deep  significance  in  her  reticence  as  to  the 
sum.  She  came  from  the  class  of  small 
holders  who  were  swept  away  by  the  economic 
changes  of  about  a  century  ago.  All  over  the 
country  curiosity-buyers  have  overrun  the 
villages  in  search  of  anything  to  be  picked 
up  cheap  and  sold  at  an  exorbitant  profit. 
Sutton  lies  remote,  and,  in  spite  of  temptation, 
old  Betsy  Mogridge  still  clings  to  her 
"tokens,"  as  she  sometimes  calls  these  relics. 
Nobody  will  ever  buy  them  for  little  or  much. 
She  greatly  exaggerates  their  market  value, 
yet  so  much  the  stronger  grows  the  sentiment 
which  cherishes  them. 

Her  lean  finger  pointed  to  the  little  three- 
cornered  cupboard  which  hangs  in  the  nook 
between  the  front  window  and  projecting 
chimney-breast.  "An*  my  little  oaken  cup- 
board there,  he's  wo'th  pounds.      But  I  shan't 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  383 

never  part  'pon  this  earth.  Maybe  he'll  help 
to  put  me  underground." 

When  alone  the  old  Betsy  Mogridge  some- 
times sits  and  dreams  of  funeral  honours. 

The  kettle  began  to  sing. 

"  La  !  Miss  Letty.  'Tis  so  terr'ble  warm. 
Now  do  ee  please  to  drink  a  cup  o'  tay." 

Miss  Letty  graciously  consented  and  old 
Betsy  took  her  best  teapot  from  the  top 
dresser  shelf  in  honour  of  the  occasion. 

"  He's  about  the  most  old-ancient  taypot  in 
parish,"  said  she.  "  But  la !  What's  wo'th 
money  now  were  thought  nothen  of  when  I 
were  a  little  maid." 

"When  you  were  Queen  of  the  Harvest, 
Betsy?" 

"  Now  who  could  ha'  told  ee  that  ?  But  so 
I  were  now — so  I  were." 

She  poured  hot  water  to  warm  the  teapot, 
then  bustled  to  the  door  and  threw  it  away 
into  the  street.  But  her  tongue  was  loosed 
already.  Whilst  she  measured  the  tea,  and 
wetted  the  tea,  and  set  out  the  cups  while 
the  tea  was  put  to  stand,  she  kept  talking 
without  a  pause. 


384  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  La  !  Miss  Letty,  the  Book  do  say — three 
score  and  ten,  and  very  near  so  many  years 
have  a-passed  since  that  happed.  That  were 
up  in  what  is  now  your  father's  ground — up 
'pon  top  o'  hill — where  they  do  think  to  haul 
wheat  to  year  o'  Wednesday  next,  please 
God.  Dear  I.  'Tis  all  gone  out.  Though 
verily  an'  truly  I  do  believe,  Sutton  folk  held 
on  to  the  old  ways  after  all  t'others  had 
a-forgot  'em.  I  were  a  little  maid,  just  in  my 
teens.  The  wimmen-folk  did  work  out  in 
ground  them  days,  an'  I  did  help  to  bindy 
and  stooky  after  the  reapers.  'Twere  the 
father  o'  old  Abe,  he  were  the  lord  o'  the 
reapers  that  year,  an'  he  swore  I  should  be 
Har'est  Queen — so  he  did.  The  reapers  did 
leave  a  bit  o'  corn,  as  may  be  a  sheaf,  o' 
purpose  till  the  last  load  were  up  ready  to 
haul.  Then  they  did  put  a  hook  in  the  han' 
o'  the  Queen  for  she  to  cut  it — an'  bind  it. 
They  did  tie  it  up  wi'  ribbons  an'  flowers,  an' 
she  all  in  white  too,  wi'  wheat  an'  flowers  all 
round  the  head  o'  her.  An'  the  Queen  did 
ride  home  a-top  o'  the  last  load  an'  carry  the 
last  sheaf  in  her  arms.     An'  they  dressed  the 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  385 

load  up  wi'  strings  o'  flowers,  an'  the  heads  o' 
the  hosses,  all  so  well.  An'  everybody  did 
dance  an'  whoop  an'  holler — 

" '  We  have  ploughed,  we  have  sowed, 
We  have  reaped,  we  have  mowed.' 

an'  some  did  holler — 

" '  Well  reaped,  well  bound, 
Well  saved  from  ground. 

Hip!     Hip!     Hip!     Hurrah!' 

An'  they  did  have  music  an'  dance  all  down 
the  lane,  afore  an'  behind  and  o'  both  sides. 
An'  then  they  did  have  a  jolly  good  supper 
in  barn,  an'  sing  an'  dance  an'  play  pranks, 
ay,  up  to  broad  daylight." 

Miss  Letty  went  home  full  of  enthusiasm 
and  bent  upon  a  Harvest-Home  in  the  ancient 
fashion.  But  in  this  twentieth  century  there 
are  difficulties  in  the  way.  It  is  not  easy  to 
manage  a  real  Harvest- Home,  when  the 
harvest  does  not  come  home.  Moreover,  it 
is  a  utilitarian  and  unsympathetic  age  and 
the  gaiety  of  villages  has  suffered. 

"  To  haul  home  a  load  for  the  purpose  of 
hoisting  a  Harvest  Queen  on  the  top,"  argued 
Mr.  William  Purchase  at  the  family  delibera- 
25 


386  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

tion  which  followed,  "would  be  something 
and  nothing."  Mrs.  Purchase  objected  that  all 
such  proceedings  were  injurious  to  the  lower 
orders  and  that  the  Oueen  underwent  danger 
of  getting  her  head  turned.  "  Though  as  to 
a  Harvest- Home,"  added  Mr.  William  Pur- 
chase, with  broad-minded  toleration,  "there 
is  no  harm  in  that  in  itself.  In  fact,  if  not 
made  too  frequent,  a  harvest  supper  promotes 
goodwill,  and  the  outlay  is  not  altogether 
wasted." 

A  supper  in  the  old  barn  was  decided 
upon. 

The  barn's  floor  was  cleared,  and  a  long 
table  of  boards  and  tressels  reached  almost 
from  door  to  door.  Not  only  the  regular 
labourers  and  their  wives  but  all  who  occa- 
sionally worked  on  the  Manor  Farm  were 
invited.  On  their  arrival  a  depression  seemed 
to  rest  upon  the  company.  Self-conscious,  in 
their  best  on  a  working-day,  they  stood  in 
groups,  scarcely  daring  to  open  their  mouths. 
In  spite  of  a  huge  crimson  dahlia  in  his  button- 
hole, young  John  Brook,  the  assistant  sexton, 
appeared     to    mistake    the    nature    of    the 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  387 

solemnity.  Carter  and  Shepherd  gazed  dumb- 
struck on  the  white  tablecloth.  Their  wives 
attentively  considered  the  chestnut  rafters  of 
the  barn's  roof  to  assure  themselves  that  they 
were  at  ease.  Selina  Jane  Edwards  called 
for  room  to  pass  with  the  beef,  and  the  spell 
was  broken.  Every  tongue  was  loosed.  One 
and  all  bustled  into  their  places.  A  small 
cross-table  at  the  top  being  reserved  for  dis- 
tinguished guests,  myself  and  Heppell  on 
the  right  and  left  supported  Mr.  William 
Purchase. 

"Grace!" 

It  was  necessary  to  hammer  many  times 
with  the  handle  of  the  carvino-fork  before 
silence  could  be  obtained. 

From  that  moment  the  spirit  of  the  old 
Harvest-Home,  still  haunting  the  recesses  of 
the  ancient  barn,  descended  upon  the  feast. 
Knives  and  forks  clattered.  Cascades  of 
beer  foamed.  The  beef  was  removed — the 
plum-pudding  demolished.  Mr.  William 
Purchase  rose  and  grave  "  The  Kino." 

"  The  King  !  " 

It  fell  to  Dairyman  to  propose  the  next  toast. 


388  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Now  then,  all  o'  ee  !  You  do  know.  Be 
ee  all  in  tune  ?  "  cried  he,  with  a  glance  up 
and  down  the  table.  "  Here's  a — here's  a 
health  to " 

Dairyman  led  off  at  so  high  a  pitch  that 
after  half  a  dozen  words  the  whole  company 
was  driven  into  a  falsetto,  from  which  extri- 
cation would  have  been  impossible  had  not 
Japheth  Pike's  "  piteous  little  ooman  "  started 
an  opposition  in  a  lower  key.  For  a  moment 
all  was  confusion,  but  the  piccolo  quality  of 
her  voice  triumphed  in  the  end  and  the  toast 
of  the  evening  was  duly  honoured. 

"  Here's  a  health  to  our  good  master, 
The  founder  o'  the  feast. 
An'  we  hope  to  God,  wi'  all  our  hearts, 
That  his  soul  in  Heabem  mid  rest. 
That  everything  mid  prosper 
That  ever  he  take  in  hand, 
For  we  be  all  his  servants 
To  work  to  his  command." 

Mr.  William  Purchase  responded  in  his 
most  solid  board-room  manner,  proving,  by 
the  analogy  of  the  human  body,  that  all  our 
interests  are  but  one,  since  the  head  cannot 
feed  itself  without  the  hands,  and  the  hands 
become  as  labourers  out  of  work  if  detached 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  389 

from  the  head.  Having  worked  out  this 
original  idea  with  great  richness  of  detail,  he 
hoped  they  would  spend  a  pleasant  evening 
together,  and  sat  down  amidst  applause.  The 
health  of  Mrs.  William  Purchase  and  the 
future  happiness  of  Miss  Letty  having  been 
honoured,  table-boards  and  tressels  were 
hurried  into  distant  corners,  forms  and  chairs 
were  set  back  against  the  spirting-boards,  and 
the  fun  began. 

From  that  moment  Sutton  discovered  un- 
suspected gifts  and  accomplishments. 

Who  would  have  believed  that  Heppell, 
the  dogged,  money-making  Heppell,  could 
by  the  waving  of  a  German  concertina  ex- 
press sentiment  so  elevated  and  so  tender 
that  it  reduced  him  almost  to  tears  ?  Or  that 
the  old  smith  was  an  absolute  master  of  the 
tambourine  and  able  to  beat  out  any  jig  or 
reel  that  feet  could  wish  for.  The  two  to- 
gether, as  everybody  said,  were  as  good  as 
any  band  of  music.  The  rhythm  was  so 
inspiring  and  the  tunes  so  old,  that  half-for- 
gotten memories  were  awakened. 

Carter  and  Shepherd  stood  up  facing  each 


39o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

other,  and  danced  as  men  used  to  do  when 
they  were  young.  Although  some  might 
laugh  to  see  them,  they  were  grave  indeed. 
Then  there  was  a  call  for  old  Abe,  who  with- 
out much  persuasion  danced  a  series  of  step 
dances  or  rural  hornpipes.  After  each  he 
walked  around  the  barn's  floor  with  a  proud 
little  strut,  but  keeping  step  to  the  tambourine 
all  the  while.  Between  these  odd  old-world 
performances  the  younger  generation  danced 
quadrilles  and  waltzes  in  a  style  only  to  be 
acquired  at  the  Oldbury  dancing-class.  And 
there  were  songs — sentimental  songs,  silly 
songs,  and  good  old  songs.  Japheth  Pike 
sang  "  Stingo,"  a  song  devoid  of  meaning,  but 
without  which  no  ancient  Harvest- Home 
could  ever  be  complete. 

"  There  was  an  old  dog  an'  he  lived  at  a  mill, 
And  Bingo  was  his  name,  sir, 
B,  I,  N,  G,  O, 

Bang  her  an'  bop  her,  an'  kick  her  an'  kop  her, 
And  Bingo  was  his  name,  sir. 
You  sing  bang  her,  an'  I'll  sing  bop  her. 
You  sing  kick  her,  an'  I'll  sing  kop  her. 
For  Bingo  was  his  name,  sir. 

The  miller  he  brewed  a  barrel  of  ale 
And  called  it  right  good  stingo, 
S,  T,  I,  N,  G,  0, " 


THE  HARVEST  SUPPER  391 

And  so,  always  with  the  chorus,  the  song 
went  on  through  many  verses,  and  when  they 
came  to  the  end  they  had  it  again.  At  last, 
after  midnight,  when  the  party  broke  up, 
the  merriest  of  the  revellers  still  shouted 
"  S,  T,  I,  N,  G,  O,"  as  they  staggered  down 
the  village  street. 

So  the  harvest  supper  was  a  great  success. 

"  No,  no,"  reflected  Mr.  William  Purchase, 
as  he  turned  the  key  of  the  barn's  door;  "if 
not  carried  too  far,  a  harvest  supper  is  not 
altogether  money  wasted." 


CHAPTER   XXXII 


MICHAELMAS 


Always  at  Michaelmas  as  at  Lady  Day,  largely 
following  the  custom  of  the  locality,  there  is 
a  small  reshuffling  of  agricultural  tenants. 
For  about  a  week  before  and  after  quarter- 
day,  slowly  along  the  dusty  high  roads  or 
between  the  hedgerows  of  quiet  byways, 
pass  flocks  and  herds  loitering  to  bite  the  grass 
by  the  wayside  while  their  drovers  pull  down 
yellowing  hazel  boughs  to  fill  their  pockets 
with  clusters  of  nuts.  Some  of  these  have 
changed  hands  and  are  goino"  to  a  new  owner. 
The  land  which  an  outgoing  tenant  has  taken 
may  not  be  so  good  as  the  sheltered  grassy 
meadows  which  he  leaves.  Then  the  stock 
would  miss  the  richness  of  their  old  pastures, 
and  he  sells  to  buy  in  a  leaner  kine.  They 
go  leisurely  under  the  clear  autumn  sky — now 


MICHAELMAS  393 

a  herd  of  milch-kine — now  a  flock  of  ewes — 
then  some  young  stock  and  a  few  sheep  as 
one  sees  them  in  old  pastoral  pictures.  Even 
the  great  waggons  piled  up  with  furniture 
travel  faster  than  they. 

Such  waggons  are  to  be  met  on  every  road 
now  all  the  changing  folk  are  ridding  house. 
I  suspect  a  reluctance  concealed  beneath  the 
greater  number  of  these  heterogeneous  piles 
of  household  sticks.  Some  are  going  to  finer 
dwellings,  and  yet  for  the  moment  there  is  a 
sadness  at  leaving  the  old  home.  The  greater 
number,  perhaps,  are  moving  because  they 
have  not  been  able  "  to  make  a  do  of  it." 
But  whether  the  change  be  to  a  better  place 
or  a  worse,  a  true  democratic  spirit  pervades 
the  journey  there.  Utensils,  buckets,  dairy 
tubs  and  vats  associate  awhile  with  parlour 
tables  and  chairs.  A  highly  respectable  old 
horsehair  sofa,  decorated  with  brass-headed 
nails,  back  to  back  with  a  very  common 
kitchen  dresser,  nurses  a  lapful  of  pots,  pans, 
jugs,  basins,  and  bedroom  ware  of  no  distinc- 
tion whatever.  The  grandfather's  clock  must 
needs    chum   with   the    baby's    cradle.     The 


394  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

occasion  is  destructive  not  only  of  class 
distinction,  but  of  all  true  modesty.  Decent 
tables,  habitually  draped,  get  on  their  backs, 
like  ewes  heavy  in  wool  before  shearing,  and 
lie  with  legs  pointing  up  to  the  sky.  Even 
a  thoroughbred  mahogany  Chippendale  will 
expose  its  elegant  calves  and  feet  to 
a  staring-  world  without  a  blush.  All 
things  become  equal  at  house-ridding  as 
at  the  greater  passing  which  men  call 
Death. 

Sometimes  a  smaller  waggon  passes  with 
a  humbler  load. 

Very  often  the  carter  or  shepherd  follows 
his  master's  fortunes  and  moves  to  another 
cottage  on  the  new  farm.  High  aloft  above 
his  few  kitchen  sticks  and  upstair  furniture, 
mixed  up  with  the  bolsters  and  the  feather- 
bed, or  often  sitting  on  a  bundle  of  clean 
oaten  straw,  are  his  wife  with  the  little 
children  who  are  still  too  young  for  work. 
They  are  all  eagerness  for  a  first  look  at  the 
new  home. 

This  Michaelmas  there  has  been  but  one 
change  in  Sutton.      Farmer  Rudd  has  left  his 


MICHAELMAS  395 

holding  and  long  John  Batch  has  come  in 
his  place. 

They  have  been  acquainted  all  their  lives 
and  many  a  deal  have  they  had  in  their  time, 
yet  there  is  something  about  the  worry  and 
doubt  of  changing  that  begets  suspicion.  No 
outgoing  tenant  can  for  the  moment  cherish 
affection  for  the  incoming  man.  One  has  to 
be  valued  out.  The  other  has  to  be  valued 
in.  Although  there  can  be  but  one  inventory, 
it  is  unusual  to  do  the  business  without  two 
valuations.  In  this  instance  Farmer  Rudd 
called  in  Mr.  Buckmaster,  whereas  long  John 
Batch  employed  Mr.  Simon  Shore  of  Oldbury. 

It  is  rare,  on  this  side  of  the  grave,  to  come 
in  contact  with  any  personality  more  im- 
portant than  a  valuer.  All  valuers  are  aware 
of  this. 

Mr.  Buckmaster,  as  you  will  quickly  learn, 
has  on  more  than  one  occasion  been  concerned 
in  a  matter  of  the  greatest  importance  con- 
nected with  the  aristocracy  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. Mr.  Simon  Shore,  although  not  hand 
in  glove  with  the  nobility,  has  for  years  been 
a  member  of  the  Board  of  Guardians,  as  also 


396  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

of  the  Municipal  Council  of  Oldbury.  Mr. 
Buckmaster,  therefore,  is  more  dignified,  more 
courteous,  more  expansive,  whilst  Mr.  Simon 
Shore  surpasses  Mr.  Buckmaster  in  geniality 
and  a  sense  of  humour.  Mr.  Buckmaster 
dresses  in  rough  tweeds,  wears  fancy  waist- 
coats, and  refers  to  himself  as  "  a  gentleman." 
Mr.  Simon  Shore  prefers  a  Norfolk  jacket  of 
quieter  material,  and  in  the  height  of  argu- 
ment will  often  commence  his  sentence, 
"And,  speaking   as  a    professional    man,    I 

say "     Mr.  Buckmaster  is  tall  and  large. 

Mr.  Simon  Shore  is  spare  and  of  middle 
stature.  Mr.  Buckmaster  sroes  in  riding-- 
breeches  and  tight  gaiters.  Mr.  Simon  Shore 
prefers  knickerbockers,  and  exhibits  his  calves 
to  the  best  advantage  encased  in  thick  stock- 
ings with  a  trellis-work  of  red  on  the  part 
turned  down.  They  arrived  simultaneously 
about  midday,  Mr.  Simon  Shore  in  a  four- 
wheeled  dogcart.  "Just  a  little  matter  with 
the  Squire,"  explained  Mr.  Buckmaster. 
"  So  I  left  my  horse  at  the  Court  and  stepped 
across."  They  shook  hands  in  the  farmyard, 
by  a  handsome  heap  of  horse-manure  close  to 


MICHAELMAS  397 

the  stable  door,  with  a  dignity  courteous  yet 
self-restrained. 

"  A  trifling  matter  b ring's  us  together," 
said  Mr.  Buckmaster  loftily,  "that  will  not 
detain  us  long.  I  could  wish  to  have  more 
of  your  company,  Mr.  Shore." 

"  The  desire  is  reciprocal,  Mr.  Buckmaster," 
replied  Mr.  Shore  smilingly,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "  Speaking  as  a  professional  man,  I 
say,  a  professional  man  can  approach  the 
subject  with  confidence  when  he  finds  him- 
self opposed  to  a  man  respected  and  looked 
up  to  in  the  profession." 

"  Differences  " — Mr.  Buckmaster  paused 
impressively — "  differences,  my  dear  sir,  do 
— and  must — and  will  arise  ;  but  between 
gentlemen"  —  Mr.  Buckmaster  gracefully 
waved  his  hands — "  they  go  no  further.  As  I 
was  saying  to  Sir  William,  only  the  other 
day.  1  said,  '  The  man  is  not  a  gentleman, 
Sir  William.'  'Then,  for  God's  sake,  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him,  Buckmaster.'  Now 
I've  thought  of  that  a  great  many  times 
since." 

11  Of  course,  in  the  interests  of  his  client,  a 


398  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

professional  man  may  now  and  then  become 
heated " 

"  I  grant  you  that.  I  grant  you  that," 
interrupted  Mr.  Buckmaster. 

"But " 

"  Between  gentlemen " 

"  There  it  ends." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Exactly." 

"  However,  there  will  be  no  differences 
between  us  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Buckmaster 
airily. 

"A  fi'-pound  note'll  cover  it,"  returned 
Mr.  Simon  Shore,  with  confidence. 

"  I  think  so  too." 

"  Still,  eh !  As  a  matter  of  form,  it  is 
usual  to  appoint  an  '  Ump.' " 

"Certainly.  Most  certainly,"  returned 
Mr.  Buckmaster,  with  emphasis.  "In  all 
cases  the  '  Ump '  should  be  named." 

"  Exactly.     As  a  matter  of  form." 

"  Purely  as  a  matter  of  form — and  pre- 
caution." 

"  And  precaution — exactly." 

"  Then  what  do  you  say  to  Mr.  Couch  ?  " 


MICHAELMAS  399 

"Peter  Couch?  Certainly  not.  On  no 
account  whatever.      I  should  say  Wilson." 

"  Quite  unsuitable,"  cried  Mr.  Buckmaster 
in  a  huff,  and  turned  away  and  contem- 
plated the  manure-heap.  "Well  —  there's 
Tutsan." 

"  Oh  no.  I  shall  not  agree  to  him.  I  see 
we  had  better  go  out  of  the  neighbourhood. 
What  of  Mr.  John  Briggs  ?  " 

"  Mr.  John  Briggs  ?  Certainly.  An 
excellent  man." 

"  Agreed  ? " 

"  Agreed." 

Mr.  Simon  Shore  at  once  produced  a  red- 
covered  field-book,  entered  the  appointment 
of  Mr.  John  Briggs,  and  handed  it  to  Mr. 
Buckmaster  to  be  signed.  In  like  manner 
Mr.  Buckmaster  enriched  himself  with  the 
autograph  of  Mr.  Simon  Shore.  The  tenants 
looked  on  and  admired.  Unanimity,  which 
for  a  moment  had  been  in  danger,  was  com- 
pletely restored. 

"  Let  us  walk  out  round  first — if  that  is 
agreeable  to  you,"  suggested  Mr.  Simon  Shore 
politely. 


4oo  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  By  all  means.  And  take  the  few  house- 
hold fixtures  last  of  all." 

Mr.  Buckmaster  pleasantly  bowed  assent, 
consulted  his  red-covered  book,  turned  to 
Farmer  Rudd,  and  said  shortly,  "  Home 
Close." 

Farmer  Rudd  briskly  led  the  way  to  that 
beautiful  pasture. 

In  the  centre  of  the  field,  enclosed  with  rails, 
was  a  rick  of  new  hay  and  beside  it  the  brown 
stump  of  a  rick  of  old. 

"Now  then,  Mr.  Buckmaster,"  said  Mr. 
Simon  Shore. 

Mr.  Buckmaster  solemnly  paced  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  rick.  He  took  a  tape- 
measure  from  his  pocket  and  fastened  the 
ring  to  the  handle  of  his  walking-stick  to 
lift  it  and  measure  the  height. 

All  the  while  Farmer  Rudd  kept  firing 
off  short  sentences  to  which  nobody  paid  any 
attention.  "Capital  hoss  hay.  Early  cut 
an'  made  lucky.  Not  a  drop  o'  rain  'pon  it. 
First-rate  quality.  Prime  condition.  Cut  out 
so  green  as  a  chibbole.      I'll  warr'nt  it." 

"  Thirty-five  by  twenty — and  ten  two " 


MICHAELMAS  401 

muttered  Mr.  Buckmaster  as  he  sucked  his 
pencil  and  ciphered  on  a  piece  of  paper  on 
the  back  of  the  red-covered  book. 

Mr.  Simon  Shore  took  the  tape.  "Catch 
hold,"  said  he  to  long  John  Batch. 

"  Thirty-four  and  a  trifle — well,  by  hardly 
twenty  —  say  thirty-four  by  twenty  —  by 
ten " 

Mr.  Simon  Shore  was  the  first  to  finish  his 
computation. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Buckmaster,"  said  he  jauntily. 

"  Six-and-twenty  ton  beside  the  roof,"  said 
Mr.  Buckmaster,  in  an  everyday  businesslike 
manner. 

"Is  there?"  Mr.  Simon  Shore  smiled 
sardonically. 

Mr.  Buckmaster  affected  to  review  his 
figures. 

"  That's  what  it  works  out,"  said  he. 

"  What  weight  to  the  cubic  yard  ?  "  sneered 
Mr.  Simon  Shore. 

"  Oh  !     A  couple  of  hundredweight." 

"  I  will  never  allow  it,"  cried  Mr.  Simon 

Shore,  with  heat. 

Mr.    Buckmaster    retained   a  gentlemanly 
26 


402  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

self-possession.  "Well.  I  may  be  just  on 
the  outside.      I'll  throw  in  the  roof." 

"Ridiculous!"  cried  Mr.  Simon  Shore. 
"  No,  sir.     We  shall  not  agree." 

But  Farmer  Rudd  had  come  prepared  with 
a  crow-bar.  Mr.  Buckmaster  thrust  the  iron 
into  the  rick  to  prove  its  density,  and  Mr. 
Simon  Shore  pulled  it  out  again  to  show 
how  loosely  the  hay  was  put  together.  He 
declared  twenty  tons  to  be  the  very  outside. 
He  was  willing,  however,  to  go  to  twenty-two. 

"  Robbery.  Flat  robbery,"  cried  Mr.  Buck- 
master.      "  I  consent  to  no  such  figures." 

"  Robbery  !  You  say  robbery  ?  I  know  a 
rick  o'  hay  when  I  see  one." 

"  You  may.  But  perhaps  some  others 
judge  one  better." 

"  Not  near  here,"  cried  Mr.  Simon  Shore, 
in  a  passion. 

Mr.  Buckmaster  drew  himself  up  with  the 
utmost  dignity.  "  Make  your  entry,  Mr. 
Shore.  We  shall  meet  and  discuss  the  matter 
again." 

They  estimated  the  stump  without  difficulty. 

Farmer  Rudd  and  long  John  Batch  followed 


MICHAELMAS  403 

this  dispute  with  close  attention  and  deep 
respect,  realising  how  their  respective  interests 
were  being  thoroughly  cared  for.  From 
"Home  Close"  they  proceeded  to  the  mangold 
field.  But  the  valuers  did  not  hold  the  same 
opinion  as  to  the  ploughings,  or  the  drags, 
or  even  the  hoeings.  Mr.  Simon  Shore  de- 
clared that  if  the  facts  were  as  stated  the 
farm  must  have  been  filthy  beyond  all  descrip- 
tion, and  a  disgrace  to  Rudd.  Thus  they 
wrestled,  each  man  doing  his  best  for  his 
employer.  They  quarrelled  in  the  fallow- 
field  and  insulted  each  other  by  the  side  of  a 
straw-mow.  They  almost  came  to  blows 
over  an  old  cider-press  when  they  got  back 
to  the  homestead.  At  last,  argument  being 
exhaustedand  theendof  the  inventory  reached, 
they  arranged  to  meet  at  Oldbury  on  the  next 
market-day  and  go  into  the  matter  more  fully. 
Gentlemanly  feeling  and  strictly  profes- 
sional conduct  again  prevailed.  Mr.  Simon 
Shore  offered  Mr.  Buckmaster  a  lift  in  the 
dogcart,  which  was  readily  accepted.  Seated 
side  by  side  in  that  vehicle,  the  two  valuers 
left  the  farm  together. 


4o4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

As  a  matter  of  history,  they  did  not  agree. 
After  all  the  "  Ump  "  had  to  be  called  in.  His 
valuation  was  exactly  half-way  between  the 
other  two,  and  everybody  was  satisfied.  Either 
tenant,  either  valuer  or  the  "Ump"  could 
have  appraised  the  inventory  without  diffi- 
culty. But  the  spirit  of  dealing  and  barter 
still  exercises  a  great  hold  on  the  country 
mind.  Farmer  Rudd  still  congratulates  him- 
self that  he  did  not  go  out  on  the  valuation 
of  Simon  Shore.  Long  John  Batch  cannot 
be  too  thankful  that  there  was  an  "  Ump  "  to 
partially  correct  the  absurdities  of  Mr.  Buck- 
master.  The  valuation  cost  about  fifteen 
guineas. 

These  details  of  the  valuation  of  Farmer 
Rudd's  outgoing  would  have  supremely 
interested  the  quick  intelligence  of  Sutton, 
had  not  a  very  dramatic  incident  occurred 
and  completely  knocked  the  colour  out  of 
every  commonplace  workaday  matter. 

It  was  evening.  Labourers  were  passing 
home  from  work,  and  a  considerable  crowd 
had  gathered  in  the  road  before  the  old  hovel 


MICHAELMAS  405 

still  occupied  by  old  Jakey  Barton,  when  the 
dogcart  with  the  two  valuers  turned  the 
corner  and  came  in  sioht. 

"  Pull  up,"  cried  Mr.  Buckmaster. 

"  What  is  all  this  then  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Simon 
Shore. 

There  had  been  gales  with  heavy  rain  and 
storm  during  the  last  few  days,  and  at  last  a 
rafter  of  the  old  cottage  had  fallen  in,  leaving 
a  large  hole  in  the  sodden  thatch.  Isaac 
Jeans  had  climbed  up  upon  the  roof  to  peer 
in. 

"  Jakey,"  cried  he.  "Here!  Where  be  ? 
Come  on  out." 

No  answer  came. 

" 'Tis  all  neighbours  here.  You  can  have 
a  night's  shelter  in  my  hut." 

Jakey  made  no  response. 

"I  do  see  the  cart.  There's  no  fire  'pon 
hearth.  But  so  far  as  I  can  make  out,  the 
man  is  not  there,"  said  Isaac. 

"  He  must  ha'  crawled  into  the  oven," 
suggested  one. 

"  Unless  by  chance  he  can  ha'  went  into 
the  town,"  said  another. 


406  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  Well,  here's  Michaelmas  anyway  an'  J akey 
have  still  got  the  key." 

"  Oh,  well !     'Tis  all  up  now." 

"Ay.  God  Almighty  have  a-send  a  notice 
to  quit  this  time.      No  mistake." 

Thus  the  village  commented  on  the  ruin  of 
the  cottage  and  the  prospect  of  a  termination 
to  Jakey's  tenancy. 

The  two  valuers  also  had  a  word  to  say 
before  Mr.  Simon  Shore  drove  on. 

"A  poor  deformity — a  little  short  here," 
said  Mr.  Buckmaster,  tapping  his  forehead. 
"  But  you  know  the  poor  man.  Now  what,  I 
ask,  under  such  conditions  can  life  be  worth  ?  " 

"Very  little,"  replied  Mr.  Simon  Shore. 

"  Nothing,"  affirmed  Mr.  Buckmaster 
solemnly. 

The  mind  of  Mr.  Simon  Shore  uncon- 
sciously assumed  towards  the  subject  its  usual 
professional  attitude. 

"  And  yet — life  is  sweet,  Mr.  Buck- 
master.     Life  is  sweet.     Gee  up  !  " 

The  prediction  that  Jakey's  tenancy  was 
ended  proved  premature. 


MICHAELMAS  407 

By  the  following  morning,  such  was  the 
ingenious  perseverance  of  the  old  man,  one 
of  the  sheets  of  corrugated  iron  had  been 
nicely  adjusted  to  cover  the  hole,  and  was  held 
in  place  by  an  old  grindstone  and  full  a  dozen 
heavy  rocks,  each  as  large  again  as  a  man's 
head. 

The  village  was  delighted.  Sure  enough 
the  old  "  Man  an'  man  "  was  "  not  beat  yet." 
Everybody  smiled  behind  the  back  of  Mr. 
William  Purchase  when  he  passed  up  the 
street  to  look  at  old  Jakey's  repairs.  He  knew 
it  and  was  annoyed.  It  became  an  obvious 
duty  to  bring  such  a  ridiculous  matter  to  an 
end  as  speedily  as  possible.  It  would  be  a 
scandal  to  winter  a  beast  in  such  a  place  as 
that,  and  the  quicker  Barton  was  turned  out 
the  better.  As  a  matter  of  duty,  Mr.  William 
Purchase  rode  into  the  town  and  instructed 
his  lawyer  to  set  the  law  in  motion.  But 
before  the  law  had  time  to  move,  the  matter 
came  to  an  unexpected  end. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Mr. 
William  Purchase  was  aroused  before  dawn 
by  the  clink  of  a  small  pebble  against  his  bed- 


4o8  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

room  window.  He  jumped  out  of  bed,  pulled 
aside  the  window-blind  and  peeped  out,  to  see 
John  Peters  standing  below. 

"  Is  that  you,  John  ?  Nothing  the  matter 
with  the  horses,  I  hope  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

But  John  Peters  spoke  in  a  solemn  voice. 

"  No,  sir.  The  chimbly  o'  the  old  cottage 
an'  the  pointing-end  that  was  a-shored  up  have 
a-falled  inside.  An'  I  do  believe  the  man  is 
under  all." 

"  Send  up  to  the  doctor.  Call  the  men 
together.  Run  as  fast  as  you  can.  Quick, 
John." 

No  man  ever  tumbled  into  his  clothes  with 
greater  speed.  Yet  before  Mr.  William 
Purchase  could  get  to  the  house  the  villagers 
had  cleared  away  the  corrugated  iron  and  the 
stones,  entered  the  cottage,  and  lifted  Jakey 
Barton  into  the  road. 

"Dead?" 

"  No  ;  not  yet,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  He 
had  better  be  taken  to  the  workhouse  as 
quickly  as  possible." 

"  Poor  man  !  An'  how  he  did  hate  the 
thought  o'  it,"  mourned  the  villagers. 


PLOUGHING 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  BALL,  R.E. 


MICHAELMAS  409 

"  But  there  !  Nobody  can't  be  blamed  but 
his  own  zelf." 

"  No,  they  can't." 

"  For  he  would  bide  in  the  trumpery  old 
place." 

"An'  zo  he  would." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

CARTER  PETERS 

After  the  wheat  in  the  broad  level  field  was 
reaped  there  came  a  night  of  rain.  The 
sheaves  stood  in  stitch  for  full  a  week  before 
it  was  convenient  to  haul  them.  Thieving 
pigeons  came  out  of  the  horizon,  warily- 
alighted  on  the  hedgerow  trees,  and  presently 
dropped  from  the  branches  to  fill  their  crops 
with  the  yellow  grain.  The  "  couple  o'  young 
cautions  "  gave  up  rabbiting  at  dawn  to  build 
an  ambush  and  lie  in  wait  amongst  the 
sheaves. 

After  the  moisture  the  sunlight,  falling 
between  the  glistening  drills  of  stubble, 
quickened  every  little  flower  and  plant  whose 
growth  had  been  stunted  in  the  forest  of 
standing  corn.  By  the  time  the  stacks  were 
up  and  thatched  in  their  corner  by  the  gate,  the 


CARTER  PETERS  411 

stubble-field  was  getting  green  with  weed  and 
pushing  blade.  The  little  pimpernel,  the 
shepherd's  weather-glass,  opened  its  petals  to 
the  very  widest ;  the  yellow-eyed  heart's-ease 
and  the  veined  bells  of  the  field  convolvulus 
flourished  anew ;  the  corn-mint  yielded  its 
scent  under  the  hobnail  of  the  partridge- 
shooter,  tramping  across  to  the  mangolds  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hedge. 

Shepherd  Jeans  ran  his  lambs  over  the 
stubble  for  a  few  hours  of  the  day.  It  was  a 
change  for  them,  and  they  bit  off  such  fresh 
young  herbage  as  they  could  find.  Young 
John  Brook's  eldest  boy  brought  up  the  pigs 
from  the  farm  to  pick  up  any  stray  ears  missed 
bv  the  rake  as  well  as  the  shaken  grain  that 
lay  upon  the  ground.  The  old  sow  from  the 
orchard  was  there  with  another  litter  running 
around  her.  The  little  pigs  of  the  spring 
were  quite  big  by  this  time  and,  the  stubbling 
over,  would  be  ready  to  go  into  the  styes  to  fat. 

One  fine  September  morning  John  Peters, 
the  carter,  and  young  John  Brook,  with  teams 
and  ploughs,  came  into  the  field  and  drew  up 
under  the  hedgerow  where  the  late  honey- 


412 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 


suckles  were  in  flower.  John  Peters  was 
brought  up  on  the  Manor  Farm.  His  father 
was  carter  before  him,  and  John  began  serious 
life  as  a  carter's  boy  and  led  the  fore-horse 
alongside  the  furrow.  Now  he  holds  the  most 
important  place  on  the  farm  and  has  all  the 
horses  in  his  charge.  Only  Isaac  Jeans,  the 
shepherd,  could  hope  to  establish  a  title  to 
equality  of  responsibility. 

Carter  Peters  is  tall  and  strong.  His  short 
nose  and  long  upper  lip  give  him  a  rather 
truculent  appearance.  He  assumes  a  tone  of 
superiority  when  speaking  to  young  John 
Brook. 

"  Look  sharp  then.  Set  your  sull.  Got 
to  plough  it  out  to  ten  inches.  I'll  go  an' 
mark  it  out.  An'  keep  your  eye  'pon  the 
hosses,  an'  partic'lar  Blackbird — mind  that." 

Carter  Peters  laid  his  jacket  and  the  rush- 
basket  with  the  nose  of  a  bottle  peeping  out 
under  the  shade  of  the  hedge.  He  opened  the 
clasp-knife  with  which  he  eats  his  victuals,  cut  a 
few  small  boughs  from  a  hazel,  and  cleaned  off 
the  leaves  with  his  hand.  Many  a  year  he  had 
marked  out  the  field  for  ploughing,  and  he 


CARTER  PETERS  413 

went  at  it  with  a  great  air  of  knowing  what 
he  was  about,  measuring  offhis  pitches,  twenty 
paces  to  the  first  cut-out,  making  forty  paces 
from  hollow  to  hollow,  and  setting  his  hazel 
sticks  without  waste  of  time  in  a  true  line  from 
hedge  to  hedge. 

"  Come  on,"  cried  he,  and  young  John 
Brook  hurried  up  his  team  and  turned  a  furrow 
the  length  of  the  stubble  as  straight  as  if  it 
had  been  ruled. 

Carter  went  on  pacing,  taking  the  furrow 
as  his  guide,  until  very  soon  he  was  ready  to 
cut  out  for  himself.  Then  the  two  ploughs 
went  steadily  backwards  and  forwards,  turning 
on  the  headlands,  the  borders  of  land  left  for 
that  purpose  under  the  hedges.  The  field  is 
large  and  the  furrrows  were  long,  but  gradually 
the  rich  brown  strips  of  upturned  soil  grew 
wider  and  wider.  Rooks,  survivors  of  Uncle 
Dick's  rook-shooting,  came  circling  over  the 
ploughmen's  heads  and  dropped  to  pick  up 
grubs  quite  close  behind  the  plough.  Wag- 
tails ran  in  the  furrows,  and  chaffinches, 
sprightly  and  bright,  hopped  and  flew  from 
clod  to  clod.      In  the  afternoon  gulls   found 


4i4  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

their  way  from  the  estuary  far  beyond  the 
withy-beds,  and  sometimes  congregated  in 
patches  of  white  on  the  dark  earth. 

Mr.  William  Purchase's  large  arable  field  is 
not  to  be  ploughed  in  a  day.  For  more  than 
a  week  the  two  teams  went  nodding  to  and 
fro,  hastened  now  and  then  by  a  flick  of  the 
rope  that  served  for  a  rein,  plod — plod — plod, 
with  a  rest  on  the  headland  under  the  hedge 
at  "  nunch  "  and  "  nammet  "  and  a  bit  of  sweet 
hay  or  a  nosebag  to  comfort  them.  But  the 
ploughing  day  closes  early.  The  teams  come 
into  the  arable  at  about  eight  and  the  plough 
is  left  at  the  end  of  the  furrow  nearest  the  way 
home  at  about  two.  Then  the  carter  and  his 
horses  quietly  follow  their  way  to  the  home- 
stead stables.  Yet  his  day  is  not  a  short  one. 
He  is  one  of  the  early  risers.  For  master's 
horses  are  in  his  hands  and  have  to  be 
looked  to. 

John  Peters  is  one  of  the  most  faithful  of 
his  class.  He  thinks  of  very  little  beyond 
the  region  of  the  Manor  Farm  and  such  out- 
side  things  as  are  associated  with  it.  He  could 
read  well  enough  as  a  boy,  but  for  want  of 


CARTER  PETERS  415 

practice  he  has  almost  lost  the  art.  Now  and 
then  he  puzzles  out  a  brief  paragraph  of  the 
country  weekly  paper,  and  for  the  subject  he 
prefers  a  crime.  Yet  he  is  the  most  law- 
abiding  human  being  on  earth — rising  with 
the  sun  and  going  to  bed  without  a  candle  in 
summer,  and  busy  in  his  stable  with  a  lantern 
of  the  dark  winter  morning-.  All  his  thought 
is  for  his  horses.  He  is  prouder  of  them  than 
of  anything  else  in  life.  They  are  well  bred 
and  handsome,  well  fed  and  sleek,  and  their 
coats  glisten.  When  John  goes  to  the  wood 
for  hurdles,  or  after  threshing  hauls  the  sacks 
of  corn  to  Oldbury  Station,  he  cracks  his  whip 
and  moves  with  style  whenever  folk  be  about. 
But  if  people  praise  his  horses  he  affects  dis- 
content. They  are  never  at  their  best — never 
quite  what  they  "  have  a-been,"  if  you  could 
have  "  a-seed  'em  a  month  agone."  For  either 
it  is  the  blackberry  season,  which  as  every- 
body knows  is  most  terrible  trying  to  horses, 
or  the  hay  to  John's  mind  "  hant  a-got  the 
proof  in  it,  to  year"  or  "they  have  a-been  a- 
worked  a  bit  tightish  the  last  few  wicks,"  and 
then — what  can  you  expect  ? 


4i 6  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

John  takes  great  pride  in  his  harness,  too, 
and  shines  up  the  brass  upon  it  like  gold 
before  starting  upon  these  errands  away  from 
the  village.  All  the  little  ornaments  upon  the 
headpiece  and  the  guide-rein  were  charms 
against  witchcraft  in  the  beginning.  If  he 
did  but  know  it,  the  thought  might  comfort 
him.  For  deep  in  his  heart  he  believes  in  the 
evil  eye  and  that  the  horse  is  very  easily 
affected  by  it.  There  is  a  horseshoe  nailed 
to  his  stable  door.  John's  father  was  most 
terrible  pestered  by  the  pixies  at  one  time,  and 
used  to  find  his  horses  all  in  a  bath  of  sweat 
of  a  morning  and  all  to  a-tremble  like.  John 
has  never  been  troubled  in  that  way.  He 
will  speak  of  it  lightly  and  laugh,  but  John 
would  not  willingly  take  down  the  horse- 
shoe. 

John  never  departs  from  tradition,  never 
introduces  anything  new.  A  black  horse  is 
called  Blackbird,  and  his  team  has  always  a 
Captain  and  a  Colonel.  Any  departure  from 
these  time-honoured  names  he  regards  with 
disapproval  and  treats  with  derision.  But 
John  is  a  steady  and  honest  fellow,  who  can 


CARTER  PETERS  417 

do  as  good  a  day's  work  as  any  man  and  is 
ready  to  tell  him  so. 

He  is  also  a  good  husband  and  in  his  rough 
way  a  kind  father.  Next  after  his  horses  and 
not  very  far  behind  them,  even  when  they  are 
looking  and  doing  their  best,  come  his  wife 
and  children. 


27 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

MY  PROPERTY! 

Jakey  Barton  did  not  die.  His  ribs  were 
broken  and  he  had  suffered  a  cut  on  the  head 
that  drove  his  senses  wandering  for  several 
days.  In  his  delirium  he  was  still  in  the 
cottage,  and  kept  protesting  that  he  had  not 
given  up  the  key.  He  cried  out  that  no  man 
could  be  turned  out  of  house  until  he  had  given 
up  the  key,  and  swore  he  would  never  give 
up  the  key.  To  comfort  him  they  kept 
whispering  in  his  ear,  "  That's  all  settled  now  ; 
you  are  not  required  to  give  up  the  key." 

With  returning  consciousness  and  the  know- 
ledge of  what  had  befallen  him,  his  mind 
appeared  to  run  on  his  few  poor  belongings. 

"  My  property  !  all  my  things — all  that  I've 
a-got  in  the  world  be  there." 

At  first  they  could  scarcely  keep  him  in  bed. 

4i8 


MY  PROPERTY!  419 

They  did  the  best  they  could  to  soothe  him. 
One  day  Miss  Cann  came  to  the  "House"  and 
talked  to  him. 

"  Everything  is  to  be  left  just  as  it  was," 
said  she.  "Mr.  William  Purchase  has  not 
touched  the  cottage — only  made  it  good,  so 
that  nobody  can  get  in.  He  is  taking  care 
of  everything,  so  that  you  may  move  as  soon 
as  ever  you  are  well  and  able  to  find  a  new 
house." 

Old  "  Man  an'  man  "  did  not  feel  satisfied  ; 
but,  weak  and  helpless,  he  was  forced  to  calm 
himself  with  these  assurances.  In  time  he 
became  convalescent,  and  one  noonday  of  an 
Indian  summer  they  seated  him  in  an  arm- 
chair in  front  of  the  workhouse,  on  the  garden 
path  that  old  Micah  Dodge  used  to  weed. 

The  sky  was  of  a  soft  pale  blue.  The  last 
of  the  swallows  were  perched  on  the  housetop. 
The  farewell-summers  in  the  border  were 
coming  out  finely.  The  sun  fell  warm  and 
bright  upon  Jakey.  He  felt  stronger,  but  was 
worried  at  the  loss  of  the  blackberry-picking 
and  with  the  fear  of  being  too  late  for  the  trade 
in  sloes. 


42o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Then  Baker  Heath,  a  basket  of  loaves  on 
each  arm,  came  to  the  door. 

"  Hullo,  Jacob  Barton !  glad  to  see  you 
about  again.  They  be  a-doing  up  your  cot- 
tage, so  'tis  said.  By  the  same  token,  they 
were  a-pulling  off  the  thatch  as  I  drove  by." 

"Eh?  Pulling  off  the  thatch  ?  Let  me  go. 
Let  me  go,  I  say.  They'll  take  all  I've  a-got. 
I  be  no  pauper.  I'll  pay  for  my  keep  here. 
The  house  can't  keep  a  man  against  his  will, 
if  he'll  pay.  Let  me  go."  With  an  effort  he 
struggled  to  his  feet  and  tried  to  stagger  down 
the  garden  path. 

Baker  Heath  put  him  back  in  his  chair. 
"  The  poor  fellow  is  off  his  head  again," 
said  he. 

The  reports  that  had  solaced  Jakey,  al- 
though not  in  exact  agreement  with  fact,  were 
based  on  a  fairly  sound  foundation.  Mr. 
William  Purchase  had  blamed  himself  a  great 
deal.  He  said  the  accident  was  all  his  fault. 
He  ought  to  have  stood  firm  and  turned  the 
poor  man  out  on  the  very  first  day  that  it  was 
legally  possible.     To  be  weak  from  kindness 


MY  PROPERTY!  421 

of  heart  is  the  worst  folly  in  the  world,  and 
always  proves  the  greatest  unkindness  in  the 
end.  Yet  Mr.  William  Purchase  did  make 
the  place  weather-tight  in  what  he  called  "a 
temporary  manner,"  and  thus  took  the  greatest 
care  of  Barton's  furniture,  including  the  little 
cart.  To  be  sure,  freedom  is  sweet,  and  since 
the  wretched  man  could  manage  to  pick  up  a 
living,  let  him  do  so  by  all  means.  Mr. 
William  Purchase  determined  that  Barton 
should  have  the  cottage  by  the  wood  rent 
free  to  make  a  shift  until  something-  more 
convenient  could  be  found.  Therefore  a  week 
or  two  elapsed  before  anything  was  done.  To 
be  sure,  there  could  be  no  good  in  wasting  a 
winter  in  the  matter  of  throwing  the  hedge 
and  planting  the  young  apple  trees.  So  at 
the  end  of  the  autumn,  Mr.  William  Purchase 
began  to  consider  what  labourers  he  could 
spare  to  work  at  getting  things  ready  for  the 
improvement.  And  all  went  at  a  fine  rate. 
The  apple  trees  were  ordered.  The  old 
house  was  condemned  to  be  demolished. 

"  La  !     Master,  I   should  never  pull  down 
the  old  place  if  it  did  belong  to  me.      How 


422  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

thick  the  walls  be — an'  so  dry  as  hay.  An' 
the  joistes  be  good  too,  all  but  one  here  an' 
there.  I'd  sooner  go  to  the  expense  of  some 
sort  of  a  roof.  It  'ud  make  a  wonderful  use- 
ful lock-up  place.  My  wig !  What  teddies 
a  man  could  store  away  there  !  What  a  place 
for  my  cake!"  The  voice  of  Isaac  Jeans 
quite  quavered  with  emotion,  as  his  imagina- 
tion pictured  a  vision  of  unlimited  potatoes 
and  cake. 

"A  good  idea,  Isaac,"  cried  Mr.  William 
Purchase.  "  Tell  the  mason  to  see  me.  I 
could  put  on  an  iron  roof.  Or  thatch  it 
again,  for  that  matter.  Get  thatcher  to  see 
me. 

The  more  closely  looked  at,  the  better  the 
plan  appeared  ;  so,  Barton's  furniture  having 
been  carefully  stored  in  the  Abbey  barn,  the 
restoration  of  the  fallen  wall  was  hurried  on 
at  a  fine  pace.  The  thatcher  came  to  look 
at  the  job,  and  climbed  up  on  the  roof.  Mr. 
William  Purchase  stood  below  explaining  in 
detail  how  he  would  have  the  work  done. 

"  There  is  no  more  nature  in  it  than  in  so 
much  burnt  paper,"  cried  the  thatcher,  as  he 


MY  PROPERTY!  423 

pulled  off  the  brittle  old  thatch,  which  filled 
the  air  with  a  damp  earthy  smell. 

"  Massy  'pon  us  !     What's  this  then  ? " 

From- behind  one  of  the  joists  he  dragged 
a  little  bundle  in  a  dirty  cloth.  It  proved  to 
be  an  old  handkerchief  much  discoloured  and 
tied  into  many  knots. 

"  'Tis  pretty  heavy,  too,"  cried  he,  holding 
it  up. 

He  pitched  it  down  for  Mr.  William  Pur- 
chase to  look  at,  and  it  fell  with  a  clinking 
noise  upon  the  doorstep.  Mr.  William  Pur- 
chase turned  it  over  with  his  stick  and 
detected  unmistakably  within  the  rag  the 
circular  shapes  of  many  coins. 

"  Money  !  "  ejaculated  he. 

Curiosity  overcame  his  repugnance.  He 
respectfully  picked  up  the  filthy  little  parcel 
and  quickly  untied  the  knots. 

"  It  must  belong  to  Barton.  Here  is  a 
sovereign  coined  last  year." 

The  thatcher  descended  his  ladder.  The 
labourers  came  from  grubbing"  the  hedo;e  and 
crowded  to  stare  at  the  secret  hoard  of  old 
"  Man  an'  man."     It  was  wonderful — and  yet, 


424  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

to  be  sure,  with  groundsel  a  penny  a  bunch, 
and  none  but  himself  to  keep 

Unnoticed,  while  they  were  so  intent  upon 
the  money,  a  strange  figure  had  come  round 
the  bend  of  the  highway.  It  hurried  along 
with  a  shuffling  gait,  and  was  already  quite 
close  when  one  shouted,  "Massy  'pon  us! 
Here  is  old  '  Man  an'  man ' !  "  And  they 
recognised  Jacob  Barton — but  Jacob  Barton 
transfigured  —  Jacob  Barton  scrubbed  and 
cleaned,  his  hair  cut  and  his  long  beard 
trimmed.  His  eyes  glared  upon  them  out  of 
a  face  white  and  yet  pink  from  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness. 

"  'Tis  my  money,"  he  shrieked, and  snatched 
it  away  with  his  long  lean  fingers.  "  You 
can  take  the  roof  from  my  head,  but  you  can't 
rob  me  o'  that.  'Tis  my  own  money  honest- 
earned  as  between  man  an'  man.  I  earned  it, 
I  tell  'ee.  You  that  be  so  straight  and  strong 
— have  ee  done  better  yourselves  ?  I  had 
no  use  for  it.  Poor  crooked  mortal  that  I 
be !  I  saved  it  to  prove  to  my  own  self  that 
I  was  so  good  a  man  as  the  rest.  Speak  out 
the  truth  then — between  man  an'  man — I   do 


MY  PROPERTY!  425 

call  upon  'ee  to.  Did  any  one  o'  ee  ever  see 
Jakey  Barton  drunk  ?  You  fools,  that  do 
turn  to  look  how  he  do  hobble  by.  You  that 
do  lay  your  heads  together  an'  say  that  he 
did  ought  to  be  made  to  go  into  the  House. 
Devils  !  Did  ee  ever  see  un  lie  down  in  the 
heat  o'  the  day  ?  You  that  be  so  fine  made. 
Was  he  ever  behind  with  his  rents  ?  'Tis 
you  that'll  go  into  the  house,  when  you  be 
old  wi'  nothen  a-put  by,  and  your  strength 
do  fail.  An'  you,  William  Purchase  —  so 
wise,  wi'  your  '  not  put  up  in  'cordance  wi' 
the  regulations.'  'Twas  a  serviceable  house, 
I  tell  ee.  An'  I — a  serviceable  man — I,  my- 
self, was  never  built  'cording  to  the  regu " 

His  strength  failed. 

He  staggered  forward  and  fell  upon  the 
ground — raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and 
gasped.  "  'Tis  my  own — honest-earned  as 
between  man  an' " 

His  chin  dropped  upon  his  chest.  The 
little  hoard  that  had  been  of  no  use,  except 
to  solace  his  loneliness  with  the  secret  thought 
that  he  was  as  good  as  the  rest,  fell  from  his 
fingers. 


426  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

"  He's  off  in  a  faint,"  said  the  thatcher. 

"  Lay  the  poor  man  straight  there  on  the 
grass — so  straight  as  can,"  said  Isaac  Jeans. 

Jakey  opened  his  eyes. 

"  It's  all  right,  Jakey,"  cried  Mr.  William 
Purchase  in  his  ear.  "  Your  money  is  all 
safe.  I  am  going  to  do  up  the  house.  Stop 
the  walls — new  joists — good  sound  roof — do 
you  hear  ? " 

Jakey  raised  his  head. 

"  I  ought  to  put  up  the  rent  now  you're  a 
millionaire.  But  I  shan't.  Shilling  a  week. 
So  long  as  you  live.  Do  you  hear,  Jakey  ? 
Shilling  a  week." 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

SHEPHERD'S    HUT 

After  the  harvest  supper  and  the  ploughing 
of  the  first  stubble,  signs  of  the  ageing  of  the 
year  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession. 
There  came  three  weeks  of  bright  sunshine,  of 
clear  skies  and  glowing  landscape.  The  heads 
of  the  tall  elms  around  the  newly  ploughed 
field  grew  yellow  upon  an  expanse  of  cloud- 
less blue,  and  the  late  honeysuckles  in  the 
hedgerows  below,  refusing  to  be  picked,  shed 
their  petals  at  a  touch.  The  blackthorn  by 
the  gate  was  purple-blue  with  its  thousands 
of  sloes  covered  with  a  delicate  bloom,  as  yet 
unwashed  by  rain.  Its  dull-hued  neighbour, 
the  maple  bush,  under  the  alchemy  of 
autumn,  was  transmuted  to  gold.  The  paler 
hazel,  scanty  of  leaf  and  robbed  of  its  cluster- 
ing nuts,  with  broken  boughs,  no  longer  erect, 


428  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

hungover  the  blackberry-sprinkled  ditch.  The 
hips  turned  to  crimson,  the  haws  to  a  still 
deeper  red.  The  long  wood-vine,  that  climbed 
so  far  amongst  the  tangle  of  the  hedge,  ripened 
its  oreen  berries  to  orange  and  to  red  amidst 
the  grey  masses  of  the  wild  clematis.  The 
guelder-rose,  the  dog-wood,  and  the  spindle- 
tree  all  decked  themselves  with  gems.  And 
gossamer  covered  the  straight  brown  furrows 
in  a  web  so  fine  that  in  the  light  it  shone  like 
satin.  Everybody  went  about  smiling  and 
spoke  of  Indian  summer.  But  the  brightness 
of  Indian  summer  bears  the  same  relation  to 
the  autumn  as  the  glory  of  sunset  to  the 
afternoon. 

These  fine  days  made  Sutton  busy. 

There  were  potatoes  to  get  in,  and  old  Abe 
was  in  his  garden  from  morning  to  night, 
digging  and  sorting,  some  for  eating,  some 
for  seed,  and  the  little  ones  for  the  pigs.  He 
could  not  wish  for  a  better  time.  For  a 
"teddy"  should  be  put  away  dry.  "'Tis 
in  the  natchur  of  a  teddy,  an'  to  year  a  man 
have  a-got  no  call  to  put  un  away  other- 
ways." 


SHEPHERD'S  HUT  429 

There  was  apple-picking  in  the  orchard  be- 
hind Jakey's  house.  You  could  smell  the  fruit 
and  see  it  in  large  heaps  of  red  and  yellow- 
under  the  trees,  as  you  passed  along  the  road. 
You  could  smell  the  cider-making  also  as  you 
passed  the  Manor  Farm.  But  the  mangold 
field  was  for  the  time  the  busiest  place  on  the 
farm,  for  that  crop  must  be  saved  before  the 
coming  of  heavy  frost.  Everybody  that  Mr. 
William  Purchase  could  send  was  there,  pull- 
ing and  laying  in  rows,  or  topping  off  the  green 
leaves,  or  loading  into  the  carts  that  travelled 
to  and  fro  to  the  "caves,"  as  they  call  the 
mounds  under  which  the  roots  are  stowed 
away  against  winter.  Yet,  although  John 
Peters  was  busy  enough,  the  straws  clinging 
to  the  hedgerows  of  the  lane  up  the  hillside 
bore  evidence  that  a  good  load  had  passed 
that  way.  One  morning  I  met  him  hauling 
the  shepherd's  wooden  hut  to  the  high 
grass  field  where  the  lapwings  came  in  the 
spring. 

All  too  soon  the  Indian  summer  passed. 
Frosts  came.  The  flowers  that  had  made  the 
cottage  gardens  gay  were  cut  off  in  one  night. 


43Q  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Only  the  farewell-summers  remained,  and  the 
pearly  discs  of  the  "  money  in  both  pockets  " 
which  had  dropped  its  seed. 

Everywhere  dead  leaves  fell  fluttering  from 
the  trees,  and  the  woods  that  had  been  so  bright 
became  dark  and  bare.  Then  came  Mr.  Peter 
Badgery  with  his  guns  and  his  beaters  and  his 
stops  tapping  with  their  sticks  to  frighten  per- 
verse pheasants  from  running  back  across  the 
ride  to  escape  destruction.  Sutton  heard  the 
sound  of  his  guns.  Selina  Jane  Edwards, 
hanging  a  few  clothes  on  the  line  to  dry  in 
the  wind,  shouted  to  the  Widow  Teape, 
"  Sure  then,  the  shooters  must  be  meeting  wi' 
good  sport. "  And  Widow  Teape,  spreading  an 
old  sack  on  the  top  of  a  bee-butt,  piped  back, 
"  They  be." 

So  the  weeks  passed  until  a  few  days  before 
Christmas  and  departure.  I  took  a  last  walk 
by  the  road  and  the  lane  and  around  the  hill- 
side. Half-way  up  the  hill,  below  the  patches 
of  gorse,  and  sheltered  from  the  north  wind, 
stand  some  sheds,  and  here  the  shepherd  had 
made  a  lambing-yard  for  the  early  ewes.  It 
was  enclosed  with  hurdles  thatched  against  an 


SHEPHERD'S  HUT  431 

east  wind  with  straw,  with  his  wooden  hut 
drawn  up  alongside  and  the  smoke  rising  from 
its  little  chimney. 

The  short  winter  afternoon  was  drawingnear 
to  sunset.  There  had  been  a  threatening  sky 
all  day,  but  now,  just  over  the  horizon,  opened 
a  long  rift  through  which  the  light  shone  and 
tinged  the  clouds  with  red.  Shepherd  came 
out  of  the  yard  towards  his  hut. 

"Well,  Isaac,  what  do  you  think  of  it? 
Snow  ? " 

He  shaded  his  grey  eyes  with  his  brown 
hand,  and  looked  towards  the  west.  Sutton 
folk  when  they  feel  anxiety  about  the  weather 
always  consult  Shepherd.  They  say  he  is 
never  wrong. 

"  I  don't  look  for  no  fallings  this  time. 
I  do  allow  'tis  breaking.  Shall  have  star- 
light an'  a  sharp  frost  afore  morning 
now." 

He  stirred  the  fire  in  his  little  stove  and  put 
water  to  boil  to  make  a  warm  gruel  for  a  weak 
ewe. 

"There's  thousands  o'  peewits,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  down  in  the  fallow.    They've  a-been 


432  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

about  there  days.  If  snow  was  a-coming,  I  do 
count  they  would  ha'  went  on.  No.  I  do 
look  for  clear  weather." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"Ay.  I'd  soonest  have  it  dry,"  said  he,  and 
stirred  his  pan. 

"  You  must  have  an  anxious  time  ?  " 

"  A  busy  time,  no  doubt.  An'  a  hardish 
time,  too,  in  bad  weather.  But  I  don't  know 
about  such  a  very  anxious  time.  No.  Summer 
is  the  anxious  time  for  a  shepherd.  What  wi' 
the  fly,  an'  the  scab — he've  a-got  his  worrits, 
I  tell  ee,  in  summer.  You  can't  be  'ware  o' 
it.  But  the  ewes  do  yeany  well  enough.  He 
mus'  watch  'em,  but  a  good  shepherd  don't 
meddle  without  he  must.     I  han't  a-lost  a  lamb 

to  year  as  yet "     He  broke  off  suddenly, 

and  then  added,  "  But  I  mustn'  say  too  much 
or  the  luck'll  change." 

The  posset  was  ready.  He  lighted  his 
lantern,  for  it  was  getting  dark.  We  went 
into  the  lambing-yard  and  under  the  shed. 
But  his  boasting  had  not  brought  bad  luck 
and  the  ewe  was  comforted.  He  held  up  the 
light  and  glanced  around  at  the  woolly  ewes 


SHEPHERD'S  HUT  433 

and  lambs  that  were  nearly  all  legs.  All  was 
well,  and  we  went  back  to  the  hut. 

"You  think  it  unlucky  to  mention  good 
luck  ?"  said  I. 

"'Tis  asking  for  trouble,  you  mid  depend. 
The  old  folk  always  said  so.  An'  more  'an 
that,  the  Almighty  do  punish  pride.  There's 
more  in  what  folk  used  to  say  'an  what  some 
folk  do  think.  I've  a-proved  some  things  my 
own  self." 

The  lantern  did  not  shine  full  upon  his  face, 
but  I  saw  him  gravely  shake  his  head,  and  for 
a  full  minute  he  remained  silent. 

"I've  a-heard  the  wisht-hounds,"  said  he 

solemnly.       "Folk    'ud    laugh   nowadays  to 

hear  a  man  say  so.      But  'tis  true.      I   never 

saw  'em.     'Tis  the  worst  o'  luck  to  see  'em. 

But  I  heard  'em  plain.     On  this  very  hill  I 

heard  'em — nine  ?  nine — no — ten  year  agone. 

Aboutnow — or, no,alittle  sooner  in  theseason. 

'Twas  a  clear  night,  and  yet  not  so  over  bright 

— no  moon — no  wind,  but  still — still  as  death, 

master.     I  had  a-looked  round.     I  had  no  call 

to  bide  and  thought  to  go  back  home  to  house, 

an'  I  stood  there  wi'  my  hand  'pon  the  hurdle, 
28 


434  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

as  may  be,  to  listen  for  a  sound  of  anything 
moving  about.  'Tis  a  habit  I've  a-got.  You 
can  hear  for  miles  of  a  still  night,  an'  you  never 
heard  a  night  so  still.  An'  they  came  from 
over  hill,  away  there  from  the  no'th,  but  not 
straight  overhead,  an'  I  don't  tell  you  so.  I 
heard  'em  like  a  pack  o'  foxhounds,  high  up, 
an'  all  full  cry,  one  to  another  an'  all  together, 
never  stop.  I  heard  'em  come.  I  heard  'em 
go,  an'  never  turn  nor  waver,  right  down  over 
Sutton  tower  an'  out  o'  hearing.  First  going  off 
I  looked  up.  Any  man  would.  But  I  couldn' 
see  nothen,  an'  then  I  bethought  myself.  I  bend 
down  my  head  an'  hearkened  to  'em,  an'  they 
went  on.  'Tis  true,  master,  for  I  heard  'em." 
"  'Twas  a  flight  of  wild  birds  on  their  travels, 

IT) 
saac. 

"  Never,"  said  he  shortly. 

"But  they  go  like  that." 

"  I  do  know  they  do." 

"And  make  strange  sounds  that  you  do 
not  hear  at  other  times." 

Shepherd  Jeans  raised  his  hand  and  waved 
away  the  explanation  with  impatience.  Then 
he  laughed  it  to  scorn. 


SHEPHERD'S  HUT  435 

"Ha!  I've  a-heard  that  tale  afore.  An' 
I've  a-heard  birds  afore  an'  since.  But  'tis 
no  good,  master.  I  tell  ee,  I  heard  'em.  An' 
more  'an  that — one  mus'  ha'  loitered,  for  I 
heard  the  crack  o'  the  huntsman's  whip." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

CHRISTMAS 

It  wanted  but  one  day  to  Christmas  Day,  and 
for  some  time  signs  of  the  approach  of  that 
festive  season  had  multiplied  in  Sutton. 
Ever  since  November,  twice  a  week  instead 
of  once,  had  the  ringers  practised  "for 
Christmas."  Ever  since  the  beginning  of 
the  month  small  parties  of  children  had  crept 
quietly  into  porches  or  on  to  doorsteps,  hoping 
to  earn  a  penny  by  singing  carols.  There 
came  a  shuffling  of  feet,  a  little  half-suppressed 
cough,  and  their  voices,  both  shrill  and  nasal, 
burst  out : — 

"  Good  Keeng  Wenceslas  looked  out 
On  the  Feast  of  Stephen, 
When  the  snow  lay  round  about 
Dee-pan  crip-san " 

By  this  time  the  door  would  open.     "  Go 

away,    you    noisy    children    you.      Kirsmas 

436 


CHRISTMAS  437 

idden  here  yet."  And  with  this  the  door 
would  slam  and  all  became  silent  again  for 
a  few  minutes,  until  fainter  by  distance  : — 

"  Good  Keeng  Wen " 

"  Tormenten  little  images!"  cried  Mrs. 
Josiah  Heppell  for  the  twentieth  time.  "  Did 
really  ought  to  be  stopped.  To  be  sure  the 
choir  do  come  round  o'  Christmas  Eve,  an' 
that's  well  enough.  For  they  don't  come  till 
midnight  an'  then  we  be  all  sound  asleep. 
For  folk  don't  bide  up  to  have  the  singers  in, 
same  as  they  did  the  mummers  an'  all  when  I 
was  a  maid  at  home.  In  cou'se,  there  idden 
no  mummers  now,  an'  the  carol  singers  'ud 
soonest  not  come  inside.  Because  why,  if 
they  do,  they  can't  find  the  face  to  call  round 
day  after  Christmas  with  the  book." 

Yet  signs  of  festivity  were  not  altogether 
absent.  Carts  laden  with  red-berried  holly 
passed  down  the  village  street  on  the  way  to 
Oldbury.  Young  John  Brook  brought  the 
best  part  of  a  load  for  the  decoration  of  Sutton 
Church  ;  and  Miss  Letty  Purchase  stood  out 
on    the    causeway  and   bargained    in    public 


438  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

for  "a  misseltoe"  that  Selina  Jane  Edwards 
described  as  "  half  so  big  as  a  house."  Pearls 
were  set  between  its  golden-green  leaves  as 
thick  as  stars  in  the  firmament.  "  Massy 
'pon  us ! "  cried  the  old  Betsy  Mogridge. 
"  Why,  if  you  can  find  a  use  for  all  they 
berries,  missie,  verily  an'  truly  there  won't 
be  none  o'  ee  left — an'  can't."  For  the  old 
notion  was  that  a  berry  must  be  picked  off  for 
every  kiss,  and  when  the  berries  were  gone 
there  was  an  end  to  it. 

Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  was  serving  my  last 
evening  repast.  It  was  later  than  usual, 
because  I  had  loitered  with  Shepherd.  The 
lamp  was  lighted.  The  blinds  were  drawn. 
I  no  lonoer  sat  in  the  window,  but  comfort- 
ably  by  the  fire,  and  for  the  last  few  weeks 
this  excellent  woman  had  not  enjoyed  the 
advantage  of  a  view  of  the  street.  But  as 
the  blind  are  said  to  receive  some  compensa- 
tion for  their  loss  of  sio;ht  in  the  alertness 
of  their  other  senses,  so,  it  appeared  to 
me,  this  deprivation  had  but  made  the 
hearing  of  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell  abnormally 
acute. 


CHRISTMAS  439 

"But  sure,"  said  she,  "we  shall  miss  ee 
when  you  be  gone,  for,  as  Japheth  Pike  said 
to  Heppell  only  last  week,  though  maybe  I 
didn'  ought  to  mention,  yet  said  all  in  kind- 
ness too,  '  I  really  do  admire  how  he  do  go 
about  an'  poke  his  nose  into  everything.' 
He  really  did,  though  no  harm  meant  or 
taken,  I  do  hope  indeed.  Harky  then ! 
There  s  the  rttmble  o  wheels.  Then  that's 
Mrs.  Treloar,  Baker  Heath's  wife's  mother. 
A  elderly  lady  an  lame  o  the  left  foot,  though 
well  off,  as  'tis  said,  an  very  genteel  for  certain, 
come  every  year  in  a  hired  conveyance.  Yes, 
there,  the  fly  have  a-stopped.  She  do  come  from 
doivn  the  country,  always  the  day  afore,  out  d 
the  hurry -push  d  folk  fd  ced  to  bide  for  business. 
Yes,  an'  I  do  hope  you'll  come  to  Sutton 
again  one  o'  these  days,  an'  the  room,  if  not 
let,  always  ready,  an'  pleased  we  always  should 
be,  or  any  friend,  if  you  should  ever  be  able  to 
recommend.  There's  the  slam  d  the  workshop 
door.  Then  carpenter  have  a-made  firm  the  leg 
d  the  tressel  for  the  handbell  ringers.  An'  to 
be  sure  we  did  hope  you  would  bide  Christmas. 
Though  Christmas  is  nothing  now  but  the 


44o  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

coming  home  o'  friends,  an',  I  do  suppose 
you  do  think  you  must  go  home  so  well  as  the 
rest.  Laukl  There  s  a  cackle  d  fowls  then. 
That 's  young  John  Brook  choosing  a  couple  off 
the  roost.  He  do  keep  crossed  wi  the  game. 
Send  a  coiiple  every  year  in  to  his  sister 
to  Oldbmy.  Ah  I  kill  'em  so  as  to  catch 
the  moment  to  send  in  unpicked  by  the  Oldbury 
fly,  Til  warrant  it.  Though,  if  I  might  make 
so  bold — but  maybe  I  ought  not  to  tell — and 
yet  more  convenient  to  know  for  certain  sure, 
for  what  so  ill-convenient  as  to  be  taken  on 
the  hop  ?     But  the  handbell  ringers,  they  did 

think  to A11  that's  Jap heth.    I  do  know 

his  step.    He  do  hit  one  heel  harder  than  t'other 
on  the  flagstone.     He  11  put  his  head  in  an 
hollar   to   smith,    an    they  11  be    here  in   ten 

minutes " 

"  Who  will  be  here,  Mrs.  Heppell  ?  " 

"The    handbell    ringers.      They    do    go 

about  Sutton  at    Christmas,   an',  of   course, 

they   must   come    in   with   the   bells,    if  you 

didn't  mind.     An'  the  book  is  for  the  church 

ringers " 

"Of    course,    they    must    come    in,    Mrs. 


WINTER  SCENE 

From  a  water-colour  drawing  by 

WILFRID  FALL,   R.E. 


CHRISTxMAS  441 

Heppell.  Make  haste,  my  good  woman. 
Run  for  your  life.  Scald  out  the  washhand 
basin.  Bring  up  the  soup-ladle.  Get  glasses. 
Get  spoons  Get  lemons.  Get  sugar. 
Bustle,  I  tell  you,  and  put  on  the  biggest 
kettle  to  your  name." 

"What  for?"  asked  Mrs.  Josiah  Heppell, 
in  surprise. 

"  Because  I  am  an  artist,  woman.  Because 
I  am  a  genius  at  it " 

"At  what?" 

"  At  the  brewing  of  punch." 

"Then  my  old  Aunt  Juke's  old  blue  bowl 
'ud  be  better,"  said  she,  "an'  I'll  fetch  un  up 
from  parlour  table  to  once.  Hark !  There 
they  be,  then,  by  the  scuffle.  An  that's  the 
tressels  dapped  down  till  Heppell  do  ope  the 
door.      I'd  better  to  run " 

She  ran. 

The  handbell  ringers  came  quietly.  They 
set  up  their  board  and  tressels  and  arranged 
their  bells  in  a  subdued  whisper.  And  gradu- 
ally acquaintances  who  were  not  ringers  slyly 
found  their  way  into  the  room,  which  was  large 
enough  indeed  to  hold  the  parish.      At  last, 


442  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  LIFE 

it  seemed  that  we  were  all  there.  For  Uncle 
Dick  went  driving  past  and  Heppell  stopped 
him,  and  Dairyman,  having  an  errand  into  the 
village,  was  pulled  in  by  force.  Somebody  ran 
to  borrow  glasses  at  the  Manor  Farm  and  to 
ask  Mr.  William  Purchase  to  step  across. 

The  Sutton  handbell  ringers  ranor  carols 
on  the  bells  very  sweetly  and  proceeded  to 
"  The  Mistletoe  Bough  "  and  other  Christmas 
ballads.  By  that  time  the  water  boiled.  The 
old  room  was  filled  with  the  fragrance  of 
lemons  and,  well,  of  other  things.  Old  Aunt 
Juke's  old  blue  bowl  was  a  jewel.  Likely 
enough  it  had  seen  orgies  in  its  time.  Did 
the  unexpected  warmth  from  the  biggest  kettle 
revive  old  memories,  I  wonder  ?  At  least  it 
brought  goodwill  to  that  little  company,  and 
an  hour  of  old-fashioned  jollity. 

"  Merry  Christmas  !  " 

"  Merry  Christmas  !  " 

We  held  aloft  our  glasses,  and  it  was  merry 
Christmas  everywhere. 

Then  we  got  to  songs  and  at  last  to 
choruses.  All  the  little  trumpery  differences 
of    the    past    year   were    swept    away    and 


CHRISTMAS  443 

Heppell  even  smiled  upon  young  John 
Brook. 

And  when  the  bowl  was  empty  it  was  filled 
again,  until  at  last  it  came  to  "  Good-night." 

"  Good-niorht." 

"  Though  I  am  very  much  afraid,"  said  one, 
"it  must  be — good-bye." 

And  so  "  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bve." 


DATE 


AA    001  312  491    2 


DEC     e 


IS 


MOV?, 4  '^Q  3 


GAYLORD 


tMEDINU    S 


